


Free Fall

by TheCorrosivePen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, Dark, Drugs, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Multi, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCorrosivePen/pseuds/TheCorrosivePen
Summary: Hermione discovers how infinite the rabbit hole can be. A dark look into pleasure and addiction.“See something you like, Mudblood?”She hardly heard the insult over the pounding in her temples. She could not possibly be standing here salivating over Draco bloody Malfoy. But she was; she was staring at him in a way that made the floor fall out from under her, in a way that made everything backwards and upside down.Complete.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a fluffy story. This includes sex, drugs, blood play (minor but there), addiction and a non-con element with respect to a minor character. It is not super explicit, but it is not surface level either. If any of these things are not your cup of tea, I beg you not to read. Some portions of this I can barely believe I wrote. But the story wanted to be told, and so it shall be.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who continue to support my writing.

**~*~One~*~**

 

Hermione Granger had decided there was nothing particularly glamorous about being a prefect, not even the use of the baths. It came with the cost of having to walk endless loops of the castle while one could be doing a million and one other, more important, things. Like homework or figuring out how in Godric’s name they were going to send Umbridge packing. But here she was, checking every nook and cranny for errant first years.

It was hardly her fault that Ron had neglected to fulfill his duty for the fifth time that week. It did, however, end up as her fix. She’d report the absolute lackluster behavior if it wouldn’t go straight to Umbridge, but there was a guarantee that the pink toad would find out and that was significantly worse than covering Ron’s shifts.

Snow was falling gently outside the castle walls, coating the grounds in a pristine veil of white. She paused by a window, hand splaying across the cold glass. It was beautiful, breathtaking in a way she could have never imagined before being swept away to the fantastical halls of Hogwarts. She lived in a bloody enchanted castle. Sometimes she could hardly believe the last years had been real.

The feeling came less often now that Cedric Diggory was dead and Voldemort lingered somewhere beyond. Hermione ignored the shiver that ran down her spine, turning away from the window to resume her inspection of the hallway.

A few minutes later hushed voices drew her toward the dungeon stairs. Technically the stairs were the purview of the Slytherin prefects, but it was hardly a deviation from her path. She crept quietly down the stairs. The voices had faded now and only the rustle of robes could be heard.

She saw the shock of white hair first. Her heart leapt in her chest as she realized who stood below her. She scanned Malfoy’s angled features. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung open, his lips swollen. He moaned, a deep sound that reverberated through her.

Hermione’s breath caught as she tore her eyes from his face. Another moan tantalized her ears as she stared down at Pansy Parkinson, putting quite the effort into her current fellatio of Malfoy.

She froze in place, halfway down the stair, suddenly unable to make her limbs follow even the simplest instruction. She couldn’t see all the details, but it was abundantly clear what she was witnessing. And she couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear her eyes from the ecstasy splayed across his pale features. He was enchanting; entirely different from the cruel façade he wore. She wanted to see more. It was absurd, this obscene desire, but impossible to resist.

Foreign heat pooled in her belly as he moaned again, his head dropping back against the rough stone of the stairwell. Hermione bit her lip, the pain enough to jerk her into motion. But her shoe scuffed against the stair and suddenly his eyes were open and she was drowning in pools of molten quicksilver.

His stare held her captive, his dilated pupils lost in lust. Her pulse was frantic, the heat coiling in her abdomen unmistakable. She told herself to look away, to run, but she didn’t move, didn’t blink. Instead she watched the waves of pleasure wash over him, his eyes never breaking from hers. She saw the instant he came, sinful darkness flooding his eyes. She drank in the moan that escaped his mouth, the delightfully wicked twist of his lips.

Hermione knew she needed to leave before Pansy realized they had an audience, but he hadn’t looked away. So she watched as he shoved Pansy away from him, his gaze never leaving Hermione.

“Go wash your filthy mouth, Parkinson.” His voice was rough, deep in ways that made her knees tremble.

“But…” Pansy stood clumsily, her hands clawing at his pristine white shirt.

“Go.” There was no kindness in his voice.

Parkinson went, never even glancing to where Hermione stood. Malfoy remained against the wall, hands idly tucking himself back into his trousers before fastening them. Hermione gaze flickered downward before she could think better of it. When she looked back up, a dangerous smirk tugged against his full lips.

“See something you like, Mudblood?”

She hardly heard the insult over the pounding in her temples. She could not possibly be standing here salivating over Draco bloody Malfoy. But she was; she was staring at him in a way that made the floor fall out from under her, in a way that made everything backwards and upside down.

He climbed the stairs until she could feel the heat radiating from him, until her senses were drowning in him. She wanted him closer. He traced a line of fire down her cheek.

“What’s really behind that good girl façade, Granger?” Malfoy chuckled, the sound darkly sensual. “Let me know when you want to find out.”

Then he was sweeping down the stairs, lascivious promises written in his silver eyes. Hermione collapsed against the wall once he was out of sight. Her hands trembled as they gripped the cool stone. There was no way she’d just witnessed that, no way that Malfoy had looked at her like he wanted to rend her limb from limb in the most debauched way possible. No way that she wanted him to.

She scrubbed her eyes, wishing she could erase the memory and unknow the desperate heat that had gathered within her as his silver eyes melted in pleasure. He was a prick, a first class git that had treated her like the scum beneath his feet. He made her burn with impossible desire.

“Ugh!” She yanked her hair in frustration. “Breathe, Hermione.”

She focused on the flow of air until she could almost pretend Malfoy hadn’t tied her in disastrous knots. Until she could ignore the dangerous heat that made her pulse race and her senses roil. Then she finished her rounds and returned to the Gryffindor tower, promising herself that tomorrow all of this would be a mere memory. She almost believed her own lie.


	2. Two

**~*~Two~*~**

 

The next day passed with no untoward advances from Malfoy. He hardly seemed to remember that anything had happened. In their shared classes he never glanced her way and when she did catch his eye, his stare was icy as ever, no hint of the fever that had promised impossible pleasures.

Hermione didn’t know whether to be relieved by his apparent ambivalence or terrified by it. As much as she wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen him in the throws of passion, it had happened. He had looked at her in a way that tipped the world on its side and undid all her common sense. It didn’t matter if he never looked at her again like that; the moment was seared into her memory, impossible to forget.

It haunted her dreams, leaving dangerous heat between her legs when she awoke. She’d hardly thought about boys, especially after the awkward fumbling with Victor Krum, but in mere seconds Malfoy had stripped away that barrier. Now she wanted, craved, needed more strongly than ever.

Hermione tried to ignore the fire simmering within her, to simply go to classes and Dumbledore’s Army meetings and pretend she was unchanged. She seemed to succeed. Beyond a few worried glances from Harry when she spaced out during demonstrations in the Room of Requirement, no one looked twice at her. She was eternally grateful they couldn’t see the hunger, the sudden jump of her pulse whenever Malfoy crossed her path.

Weeks passed and winter settled into the grounds. The chilled air was a balm against the fire in her veins. Often she could pretend she’d never seen Malfoy and Parkinson, that it was fever dream. But sometimes he would turn his head just so and the yearning would grip her, the need to let him devour her overpowering. But he never looked at her, even during prefect meetings where they sat mere feet apart from each other. So she continued on, ignoring the memory and all its collateral damage.

It was a cold February Saturday, the type that stole into her bones and chilled even the basest of her desires. Harry and Ron were in the common room, playing a round of Chess. Hermione had escaped the endless chatter to study in the library, the boys barely even waving goodbye as she’d exited the room. She’d ensconced herself at one of the tables at the far back, away from the usual bustle of students coming and going. It was peaceful back here; snow falling gently beyond the ornate windows, a comforting silence broken only by the rustle of the pages in her book.

Hermione sighed as she finished the latest Transfiguration essay. Three down, now only the pink toad’s mockery of Defense Against the Dark Arts to go. She’d put it off as long as possible, but there was no avoiding it now. OWLs were coming up and as much as she wanted to shove a blank parchment down Umbridge’s throat, the banal essay would likely help her revise if nothing else.

“So this is where you hide to avoid Potty and Weasel. A bit lacking in creativity, Mudblood.”

Malfoy’s voice was an adrenaline shot to the heart. She spun toward him heedless of the parchment that fell to the floor. He was sitting on a desk behind her, legs dangling carelessly. He stared at her, silver eyes teeming with dangerous promises.

Hermione nearly liquefied just looking back at him. The brazen heat was back, begging her for something she would never admit. It took nearly all of her will power to construct a coherent sentence. “What an unwelcome surprise, Malfoy. Run out of first years to torment?”

He shrugged, the movement languid. “They get boring after awhile. Always so scared, so much crying. It’s pathetic.”

She tried to glare at him, but the heat churning within her made the attempt fall flat. His wicked smirk grew as he watched her struggle. “Everything okay there? You seem a bit distracted.”

Hermione wanted to slap the smug expression off his face. Malfoy hopped off his perch and sauntered over to lean against her desk. He was far too close now, his shirtsleeve brushing her shoulder. His eyes were dark, full of possibility.

“Go away, Malfoy.” It was a pitiful attempt to sway him, but at least her voice was steady.

His smirk grew more perilous. “You don’t really mean that, do you? I saw how I affected you on the stairs that night. There’s no way you truly want me to leave. The question is, Granger, what do you want?”

Malfoy touched her then, his smooth fingers chasing a path across the base of her neck until his hand was spayed across her collarbone. His fingers flexed, digging into her skin as he stared down at her. “Do you like that?”

His voice was pure sin. Hermione’s pulse stuttered against his grip. He was uncomfortably close to actually choking her, but she couldn’t find the will power to pull away from his touch. He tightened his fingers again, the pressure against her windpipe escalating. “You do, don’t you? Imagine all the things I’ll make you feel, Mudblood.”

Hermione whimpered, eliciting a look of intense satisfaction. “That’s a good girl.” Malfoy’s hand clawed tighter against her skin. Now he was choking her, the passage of air dangerously impeded. She grasped uselessly at his hand, her eyes fixed on his. His licentious stare didn’t waver, no matter how hard she pulled, not even when her nails dug into his flesh. The edges of her vision were narrowing now, giving way to the oxygen deprivation of his punishing grip.

He released her moments before the blackness took her. Hermione gasped for breath, the horror of what he’d done sending tremors down her limbs. Malfoy merely smiled down at her, the twist of his lips a mockery of her plight.

“Let me know when you want to have some fun, Mudblood.”

The words were murmured against her skin, his lips tasting her for an infinite moment. Hermione wanted to gouge his eyes out, to slam him into the desk until she was sure he would never hurt her again, but her body refused to move, not even to watch his retreat.

The silence of the library was oppressive now. She worked her jaw, hand ghosting over where his palm had pressed. He had to have left a mark. She pulled a scarf from her bag and wrapped it around her neck. Even the pressure of the scarf sent a wave of panic through her.

She quickly shoved her things into her bag. Then Hermione rushed headlong through the halls until the portrait hole swung closed behind her. Ron and Harry were sprawled on a couch as she dropped into a chair next to them.

“You look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost,” Ron commented, his brow furrowed.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, you look really pale, Hermione. Everything okay? Did you run into the toad?”

Everything was most definitely not all right, but she wasn’t about to tell Harry and Ron that Draco Malfoy had nearly strangled her in the library while propositioning her. It sounded absurd. It was absurd. The worst part was that the threatening grip of his hand had made the burn stronger. He’d been right. She had liked it, even as the blackness had threatened to carry her away. It was sick, unhealthy and horribly true. Hermione tried to settle her thoughts as Harry and Ron stared at her, waiting for an answer.

“I got stuck on the latest DADA homework.” That was at least partially true. She especially didn’t want to finish the absurd essay with the memory of Malfoy’s hands squeezing the life out of her. “I think I might skip it.”

Ron’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Skip it? Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?”

She’d appreciate knowing the answer to that. “I’m not kidding, Ron, it’s some dumb research project on stuff we did third year with Lupin. It’s a waste of my time.”

Ron shook his head. “Well, Harry, remind me of this when she starts hounding me about revising for OWLs.”

“OWLs are important,” Hermione chided.

Harry threw his arms up. “I am staying out of this one, Ron.” He glanced over at Hermione, worry flooding his green eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hermione nodded, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she rose. “I’m fine, Harry. But I think I might go take a bath and get some rest.”

The boys nodded and Hermione retreated from the common room. She wanted more than anything to use the prefect’s bath, but the shred of common sense she’d retained reminded her that Malfoy had access to the bath as well. So she settled for a long shower in the Gryffindor girls’ bath instead. As the searing water cascaded down upon her, she tried to scrub the memory of Malfoy’s hands away.


	3. Three

**~*~Three~*~**

 

Hermione was keeping herself together as best she could. The feeling of Malfoy cutting off her air was a ghost against her throat during every class. She’d been lucky so far, her schedule containing no shared classes with the Slytherins until now. Not only was Potions the first time she would see him since he’d imprinted himself on her flesh, but Snape had also promised one of the dreaded cross house projects. The professor’s glee at their upcoming discomfort was evident in the smirk that greeted them at the door.

“Take a seat, but do not unpack.” Snape eyed them a tad too maniacally. “I’ve already divided you up, when you hear your name find a seat with your partner. And no, there will be absolutely no switching.”

Hermione did her best to not glower back at him. She eyed the Slytherins across the room. Malfoy was thankfully currently distracted by something Parkinson was saying, but Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini were casting equally annoyed looks in the direction of the Gryffindors.

“Lavender Brown and Gregory Goyle.” Hermione almost felt sorry for Lavender.

“Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini.” Harry looked downright relieved and Hermione couldn’t blame him. Zabini was one of the only decently intelligent Slytherins in their year. And unlike Malfoy he was generally soft spoken and more than willing to just get the project finished.

“Daphne Greengrass and Seamus Finnegan.” Seamus looked a little too excited about the prospect of working with the attractive Slytherin.

“Pansy Parkinson and Ron Weasley.” Hermione stared in sympathy at Ron as he trudged over to sit beside Parkinson. The movement had the unfortunate side effect of redirecting Malfoy’s attention. His eyes latched on to hers, a predator stalking its prey. She hardly heard the next names Snape called over the frantic thrumming of her heart. By the time he was saying her name, she already knew she was doomed.

Malfoy sauntered across the room, dropping his bag on her desk as he slumped down beside her. Hermione stared resolutely at the desk in front of her.

“No need to be shy, Granger. I don’t bite.” He laughed, the sound dark and sensual. “Not unless you want me to.”

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to ignore the effect his words had. “Can we just get this over with?”

“So bold,” he purred, suddenly invading her personal space. “I’ve had my share of trysts in the potions closet, but personally I’d like to wait until we can have a bit more privacy. I want to hear you scream.”

It took all her control to not react as his fingers trailed down the back of her neck. “I meant the project, you git,” she managed to grind out when his caress paused.

Malfoy dropped back into his seat, giving her a much needed respite from his ministrations. “Always such a spoil sport, Mudblood.”

“Spare me,” she snapped. He thankfully remained blessedly focused on their potion for the remainder of the lesson. His silver eyes danced with dark promises, but as long as she stared at the cauldron in front of them, her pulse remained at a reasonable rate.

Snape eyed their potion, scribbling obscure notes down on his parchment. “Acceptable. I suppose I have you to thank for that, Mr. Malfoy.”

Malfoy grinned lazily up Snape. “You do indeed.”

The professor turned away from them without another word. Hermione took that as her cue to begin cleaning up. She was mere minutes from freedom and she wasn’t about to have Snape harping on about any mess they’d made.

Malfoy’s arm dragged across hers as he reached for the knife they’d used. She couldn’t help the jolt that ran through her, the sudden heat that drowned out every other sensation. Sensing her reaction, he shifted closer, the blade of the knife dancing precariously across her skin. He trailed it across her hand, then upwards until its point pressed lightly against her jugular. Her eyes flew to his, panic coiling with desire.

Malfoy shifted to shield the sight of the knife against her skin from prying eyes. No one sat behind them. Hermione swallowed, cognizant of the brush of the blade against her skin.

“Wha… what are you doing?” Her voice trembled, catching as the knife dug deeper.

“Keeping things interesting.” The blade sank into her skin for a horrifying moment before he discarded it on their desk. She could feel the blood trickle down her neck. Silver eyes locked on her, he wiped his thumb across the stream. Her breath hitched as he raised the digit to his mouth, pale lips suddenly stained red. She was revolted; she was ignited.

Malfoy dipped his head until blond locks tantalized her cheek. “You can pretend all you want, Mudblood, but when you finally give in, I promise it will be magnificent.”

He tossed a rag at her as he gathered their supplies, as if he hadn’t just tasted her blood. As if her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest, adrenaline flooding her veins. She followed suit, whispering a quick _Episky_ to stem the flow from her neck. Ignoring the rag, she cast a cleaning charm as well, breath coming easier as the remnants of the blood disappeared from her skin.

Malfoy didn’t bother to return and for that, she was grateful. She spent the rest of class in a confused haze, the memory of the blood on his lips driving her mad. It was vile and yet, just the memory had her tightening her thighs and trying to forget how debauched he’d looked, how much she wanted to see it again.


	4. Four

**~*~Four~*~**

 

The Gryffindor table was raucous that night, tales of the latest Quidditch practice replayed in excessive detail. Normally Hermione would have been annoyed, but tonight she welcomed the distraction. Anything that kept the memories of Malfoy at bay. She smiled at all the right times and even genuinely laughed at Seamus’ impressions.

As the night began to wind down, Ron sidled up next to her, a guilty look in his eyes. Hermione’s stomach turned even before the words came out of his mouth. “So, I messed up again ‘Mione. I forgot about that essay for Transfiguration and I didn’t get my Potions essay done early like I wanted to. Could you cover again for me tonight? I promise this will be the last time.”

She wanted to tell him no, there was no way she was wandering around the school alone tonight when Draco Malfoy was on a bizarre quest to seduce her. Instead she nodded, eyes rolling. “This has seriously got to stop, Ronald. You are the worst prefect in the history of Hogwarts.”

“I know.” Ron grinned down at her. “Thank you!”

“You owe me,” Hermione told him. And if she ended up face to face with Malfoy to night, Ron would more than owe her.

Ron was already trotting toward the exit, Harry fast on his heels. The redhead grinned back at her, his eyes light with mirth. “I know, ‘Mione! I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Her smile faded as they moved beyond the doors. Most of her housemates had cleared out as well, only a few of the first years still giggling in their seats. Hermione risked a glance at the Slytherin table, but it was thankfully empty as well. Rising, she shooed the first years back to their common rooms before retreating to the castle doors. The night was clear, the moon luminous amongst a field of stars. She stepped outside, letting the chill sink into her bones.

It was only another set of rounds. She’d been covering for Ron for months, what did another night matter? Malfoy, of course. She hadn’t been on rounds without a partner since the time she’d encountered him on the stairs. Hermione had endured Anthony Goldstein’s utter banality to escape another such encounter.

Now it was worse. He’d made the offer of… her cheeks flushed. She could barely even remember his words without heat rioting through her. She’d thought he would get bored, move on to another victim, but his actions in Potions promised no respite.

Her hand traced her neck, pausing at the spot the knife had sliced. He’d put a knife to her jugular, even drawn blood, and she’d been powerless to stop him. She’d wanted him to continue, to find out what happened next. Her stomach turned at the thought. She was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor golden girl, not some harlot in his harem.

She hated him, was sure Malfoy hated her as well, but that fire he ignited was incendiary, impossible to resist. He was captivating, everything she’d never considered, never even imagined. And he was offering it to her. His blood red lips flashed across her vision, making her breath catch.

Hermione turned abruptly away from the frigid night. Such idle thoughts led to places she couldn’t go, would not even risk imagining. The clock in the hall indicated curfew had fallen and rounds were due. With a shuddering breath, she cleared her mind and set to the dull task of rounding up the errant first years bound to have forgotten the time.

She found seven by the time her rounds were ending. All had been petrified she’d dock them points, but she’d merely directed them back to their houses with a wave of her wand.

Hermione envied them, so unencumbered by the intricacies of life. Even Voldemort seemed a distant threat, with no previous encounters at Hogwarts to fuel their terror. The worst they had to deal with was Umbridge’s infernal Inquisitorial Squad, which while annoying, was hardly a true threat to their well being. Malfoy and his lot seemed more interested in hazing than terror. Not that she didn’t think they all should be stripped of their privileges for the blatant abuse of power. It was just better than the alternative.

Echoing footfalls interrupted her silent contemplation. Hermione spun, wand out, as she surveyed the darkness. She was at the base of the Astronomy Tower, far from the safety of the Gryffindor common room.

Moonlight glinted off Malfoy’s hair as he eased down the final step of the tower. Hermione froze, mere feet from him, as his silver eyes scanned her form, finally stilling on her face. His full lips curved into a predatory smile that sent her pulse skyrocketing.

“Well met by moonlight proud Hermione.” His voice was deeper, more sensual than she recalled, her name on his lips pure honey, sweet and inviting.

“Ill met. The quote is ill met by moonlight.” She could hardly believe they were debating Shakespeare.

“I believe my version better captures the nature of our encounter.” He had shifted closer to her, his breath suddenly hot against her cheek. Hermione moved to back away, but the wall was already against her.

She would not panic, would not give in to his advances. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your common room by now?”

“Inquisitorial Squad gives me quite a bit of leeway these days. Pity you’ll never be invited.” He seemed almost disappointed, which was jarring. He’d attacked her, using his newfound privileges, numerous times.

“Are you going to leave me alone?” She tried to sound annoyed, but the flush spreading through her and the stampede of her heart made it difficult.

Malfoy set his hand over her clavicle, his thumb rubbing hazardous circles against her flushed skin. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Yes. She screamed the word silently, but her mouth simply hung open, only the harsh pant of her breath emerging. Smug satisfaction filled his silver eyes as he closed the distance between them.

His breath scorched her face as his lips hovered above hers. She was awakened, every sense suddenly keen, unbearable in intensity and yet unstoppable. She could see the dark mirth in his eyes as he murmured against her lips, “Tell me what you want, Granger.”

War raged within her for an impossible second until the dam broke and her desire crashed through. Hermione didn’t bother with words, could hardly remember how to speak, as her lips surged to meet his. He groaned, roughly pulling her closer, his grip bruising. She didn’t care, didn’t even notice the pain as she drowned in ecstasy.

Now that the last dregs of her restraint had shriveled away, there was nothing stopping the ravenous lust he’d inspired within her. She tore at his shirt, sending buttons flying, her mouth on his pale skin, devouring every millimeter of him she could find. Malfoy met her with equal fervor, his teeth scraping and nipping with abandon as he divested her of whatever garments he could get his hands on.

They were both emitting wanton moans that would have made her blush if she’d had half a mind. But there was only him, wicked silver eyes and devastating lips that spelled ruination across her skin.

He paused a moment, his breath a pant against her, as his hands fumbled in the dark. They emerged a moment later with his school tie as a dangerous glint gathered behind his silver eyes. He yanked her hands behind her back with no warning, pushing her roughly against the stone wall. Hermione opened her lips to protest, but his tongue drew all sense from her as it traced fire across her back. She moaned even as he ground her wrists together. His tie wrapped tightly around them before he released her, hands bound behind her back.

Malfoy turned her to face him again, his mouth still drawing impossible pleasure across her skin. She was exposed in the worst way possible, but she couldn’t find the impetus to care. He was giving her everything she had never dared to dream and she would do anything to ensure he didn’t stop.

He made quick work of her skirt, but left her panties alone, turning his attention to his belt. As his trousers dropped to the floor, Hermione could hardly help her needy stare. Malfoy smiled, all edge and sin, as he freed himself.

“Since you seemed so keen last time, why don’t you see how well you can do, Granger?”

For a moment she was lost, but then he was shoving her to her knees and pulling her head toward him in a way that begged no question as to his desires. Hermione had never seen a boy this close, had never touched anyone in the way he demanded, but the lust roiling within gave her impossible confidence. She worked her way though, relying on his harsh grunts and intoxicating moans to find exactly what he liked. By the time he was spurting down her throat, she was high on the depraved pleasure of making him tremble for her.

Malfoy stared down at her, silver eyes blown wide. “Swallow it, you slag.”

She did, her focus never leaving his perilous gaze. He grinned at her as he hauled her back up. “Good girl.”

Hermione swayed against him, the exhilaration rendering her unstable. He steadied her, his hand burning a path down her spine. When she was at last stable, he spun her to face the wall. “Lean over,” he whispered against her neck, his breath sending tantalizing shivers through her. Hermione did as instructed, too lost in bliss to imagine refusing. His lean fingers slipped beneath the only remaining fabric, sliding against her before impaling her. She screamed, the sound pure pleasure. He repeated the movement until she was shaking in his arms, unable to support herself even with the wall. The final wave of bliss ripped through her like a hurricane, tearing her into a million shards of ecstasy. Hermione whimpered in his arms as his hand slipped out of her. He held her against him, hands idly tracing patterns on her skin, her bound wrists trapped between them.

When her limbs had steadied, he moved away from her. A flick of his wand and his tie was back in his hand. She could hardly see straight, let alone imagine dressing, but he was fully clothed in mere seconds. His eyes promised dark pleasures as he murmured, “There’s so much more I can show you.”

“I…” Hermione’s tongue froze, her brain unable to form a coherent thought.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, Granger, I can be patient. Though I would recommend getting dressed sooner rather than later. Filtch tends to be blundering about at this hour.”

The darkness had long since swallowed him when Hermione finally managed to rearrange herself into something halfway decent. Her skin still tingled, her limbs barely functional, as she made her way to the Gryffindor Tower. She didn’t bother to wash away the signs of their tryst; instead collapsing against her pillow the instant she entered the dorm. The ghost of his lips caressed her skin until slumber stole her away.


	5. Five

**~*~Five~*~**

 

The next morning brought reality crashing down upon Hermione. She could hardly believe her memories were real. But the evidence didn’t lie. Her wrists were savagely bruised and bite marks littered her skin. She healed them before anyone else could notice the devastation Malfoy had wrought upon her.

She tried to follow the conversation at breakfast, but her focus kept slipping back to the Slytherin table. He was thankfully facing away from her, but her eyes were doing a fair job of boring through his platinum head. Hermione looked away again as a flush began to chase across her skin.

Harry frowned, pausing mid-sentence to address her. “You look terrible, Hermione? Are you coming down with something?”

A serious case of lost common sense. “No, I don’t think so. Isn’t it hot in here?”

Now Ron was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s bloody freezing in here, ‘Mione. You sure you’re okay?”

Hermione swallowed. “Maybe I am feeling a little under the weather.”

Both boys seemed mollified by her admission. Harry leant closer. “But you’ll be okay for the next session tonight?”

She blinked vacantly for a moment before realizing what he meant. They had a Dumbledore’s Army meeting to continue their work on their Patronuses. Maybe they could add in a few anti-lust jinxes. The encounter with Malfoy had left her feeling horribly exposed, but also dangerously elated. She never wanted to face him again while still craving his touch. It was confusing.

“Uh, yeah, I should be fine to make it tonight.” At least there was no chance of Malfoy sneaking up on her during DA practice. Harry looked relieved as he retreated back to his place. Ron gave them both a weird look, but didn’t say anything at all.

 

~*~

 

Everyone was already gathered by the time Hermione made it into the Room of Requirement. She slipped into the back of the crowd, slowly maneuvering her way to stand beside Ron. He gave her a silent nod, but kept his attention on Harry, who was once again explaining the essentials of the Patronus Charm. Hermione had mastered hers last session, but there were still plenty of DA members far from creating a corporeal Patronus.

Hermione had somehow managed to escape the day unscathed. She’d only locked eyes with Malfoy once. He’d given her a decidedly lascivious wink, but had thankfully ignored her entirely afterward. She could almost pretend she hadn’t been on her knees in front of him less than twenty-four hours ago. But then she would remember his mouth against her skin and the need thrumming through her would put to rest any fantasy that he’d never touched her.

The DA members were splitting up and Hermione forced herself to focus on what Harry was saying. “Find a partner to help you with your casting. Hermione and I will circulate around and give you pointers.”

Hermione wandered toward Luna and Neville. Luna’s hare was close to being fully corporeal, but Neville’s was far from. She listened as Luna carefully explained her technique to Neville. Despite Luna’ eccentric nature, her advice was as good as Hermione’s, so she moved on.

Harry was fussing over Cho in the corner, his words suddenly stumbling over each other. Cho didn’t seem to mind. Hermione lips tugged upward as she watched them. They were cute, absurdly cute and a world away from whatever it was that brewed between Hermione and Malfoy. Maybe Harry would work up the courage to kiss her one day; maybe she’d let him. It all seemed so childish compared to the doors Malfoy had thrown open for her.

Hermione cleared her throat and looked away. Here she was at DA practice and he was still on her mind. But how could she possibly erase the mark he had left upon her? She might be able to heal the scars, but he had imprinted himself on her skin, staked ownership over her soul, and now every breath was a memory of his touch, his taste.

She could lie to herself, or she could admit that she very much wanted to follow him down the rabbit hole. He changed everything and that was exactly what she craved. After the dull experience of Victor Krum she was ready for something real, something that stole her breath away and flung her across the universe. She could hardly bring herself to care it was Malfoy. So his motives weren’t pure, hers certainly weren’t either. He could call her Mudblood as much as he pleased as long as he kept rewriting eternity with his lips.

“What do you think, Hermione?” Seamus’ eager face swam into focus.

“Huh?”

He gestured to the fox now bounding about the room. He’d managed a corporeal Patronus and she hadn’t even noticed. Cheeks flushing, Hermione smiled at him. “It’s perfect, Seamus! I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned back before rushing over to Ron, Luna and Neville to share his success. She watched him go, a sense of otherness settling over her. Yesterday she would have followed, but today she was apart, not able to fit in the way she used to. It was jarring to realize, but impossible to avoid.


	6. Six

**~*~ Six ~*~**

 

The next week saw whatever was left of Hermione’s self restraint fly out the window. Malfoy would pull her aside, between classes, during rounds and she would melt against him. Sometimes clothes were shed, often not. He was never gentle and she never minded. Her nights were full of sordid dreams; reality melting into fiction until all that existed was profound pleasure.

Hermione kept her work up, managing to complete assignments during the few hours she had left to herself each day. Her input had run dry during DA sessions, but aside from the occasional concerned glance from Harry, no one seemed to notice.

She occasionally thought about telling Malfoy no the next time he ensnared her, but the minute his perilous silver eyes met hers, such notions were banished. She’d thought the passion would fade, but if anything it escalated with each encounter. They hadn’t actually consummated the relationship, but Malfoy had taught her a million and one other pleasures. Just the rasp of his breath against her skin left her shuddering with desire.

He’d often toy with her, bringing her to the brink of total ecstasy and keeping her there until she begged for release. She hated him for it, but she could hardly deny the results it yielded. They never talked about anything important, or really anything at all. Their mouths found better occupations than speech.

Tonight was only mildly different than usual. They were hidden behind a tapestry near the Ravenclaw Tower, the space barely large enough for the two of them. Malfoy had grabbed her hand as she’d exited the prefects’ bath, dragging her up the stairs two at a time. Hermione had laughed and followed him, heat already pooling within.

His iniquitous eyes were darker tonight, more dangerous, as he pulled a bottle from his robes and set it between them. Hermione squinted in the dark, attempting to decipher the fine print.

Malfoy saved her the effort. “Firewhiskey. Top shelf too.”

Her eyes slid to meet his, the silver orbs luminous in their dark retreat. “Alcohol?”

He licked his lips, drawing her heated gaze down. Hermione could barely resist crossing the distance and capturing his mouth. Instead she observed his lips move, predator watching pray. “Yes, alcohol. You can’t possibly be bothered by that, not after everything you’ve done.”

With me was the unspoken addition to that sentence. And he was right. Their lust-fuelled tête-à-têtes were far more incendiary than a bottle of Firewhiskey. “So what’s the occasion?”

“Do we need an occasion?” He arched a refined brow, eyes dark with promise.

“I suppose not,” Hermione allowed, watching him pop open the sealed bottle. He took a long swig, giving her the chance to admire the play of his throat as he swallowed. She wanted to taste him, so she did, her tongue tracing a sensual path down his exposed throat. He moaned in appreciation before trusting the bottle into her hands.

She took a small sip, feeling the fire burn all the way down. His eyes glinted with untamed delight as she raised the bottle again, this time letting a significant amount of the Firewhiskey burn down her throat. He nipped at her jaw as he stole the bottle back.

“Who knew the Gryffindor Golden Girl had it in her.”

She watched the amber liquid spill over his lips for only a moment before she captured his mouth with her own. The burn of the Firewhiskey tantalized her tongue as it tangled with his. The warmth of the alcohol was already spreading through her limbs, heightening the pleasure. She quickly lost herself in the heat of his mouth, the absolute bliss of his hands sliding beneath her shirt.

He laughed, the sound dark and full of sin. Then she was on her back, Malfoy straddling her as he poured the dregs of the bottle down her throat. She swallowed easily, pulling him down to meet her desperate lips. His hands were under her skirt now, teasing her with promises of delights to come. Her hips thrust wantonly against him, body begging for release.

Malfoy merely laughed again. “Patience, Granger.”

Hermione writhed against him to no avail before surrendering to his infernal ministrations. She was nearly tipping over the edge when a very clear “Hem, hem, hem” sounded from the other side of the tapestry.

Malfoy froze, his eyes suddenly sharp. He shoved her behind him, indifferent to the scrape of stone against her flushed skin. The bottle was shoved into her hands before he pulled the tapestry partially aside.

“Yes, Professor Umbridge?” He was composed now, no sign of the boy who’d drank half a bottle of Firewhiskey while trailing delights across her skin.

“Oh, I thought you were somebody else, Mr. Malfoy.” She shook her head. “Silly me. Please do make sure you’re back to your dorm soon, it is rather late, even for members of the Inquisitorial Squad.”

“Of course, Professor.” Malfoy’s voice was overly saccharine, but Umbridge didn’t seem to notice.

He waited until the sound of Umbridge’s footfalls ceased to echo before turning back to Hermione. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen. There was no way Umbridge hadn’t figured out what he’d been up to. He grinned lazily down at her, hand coming to rest at the base of her neck. Hermione only giggled as the pressure increased, his eyes flashing in the darkness.

“How quiet can you be?”

The answer was very. She barely made a sound as he finally brought her to release, his firm grip on her neck never abating. Hermione could hardly feel anything but pleasure; her limbs were heavy and her mind spinning infinite circles. He played her until she was merely a puddle of wasted lust beneath him. His silver eyes were full of dark satisfaction when she finally exploded beneath him. Only then did he let her go, the glint in his eyes sending further waves of need coursing through her.

Hermione reached for him, but he batted her hands away. “Not tonight.”

“But—“

“Umbridge may be a stupid cow, but she’s not going to let me openly defy her twice in one night.” His voice was sharp now, far from the sensual murmur she craved.

Hermione tried to stand, but the world tilted abruptly sending her stumbling to her knees. Malfoy scoffed as he yanked her up again, his arm holding her steady until the world stopped spinning quite so frantically.

“A bit of a lightweight, Mudblood?”

“Sod off,” Hermione muttered, gripping the wall for dear life.

“There’s no way in hell I’m walking you back to the Gryffindor Tower.” His eyes flashed with annoyance, but Hermione was too busy staying steady to mind.

“I didn’t expect you would,” she managed to reply without the world tilting.

“I’d say don’t get caught, but I honestly don’t give a damn. Try not to fall on your face too many times.” His tone was familiar, mocking. She told herself it didn’t matter.

Malfoy disappeared around the tapestry without another word, leaving Hermione to navigate her way down from the ledge on her own. She nearly did end up head over heels, but finally she was upright and swaying her way to the Gryffindor Tower. No one was left in the common room, for which she was eternally thankful. Even her bunkmates were already asleep. Hermione toed off her shoes and borrowed under the blankets, sleep quickly claiming her.


	7. Seven

**~*~Seven~*~**

Firewhiskey became a usual part of their evenings together. Hermione never asked where he got it and Malfoy never offered an explanation. The better angel on her shoulder spent the mornings after berating her for such childish indulgence, but even the worst hangover, which had sent her to Madam Pomfrey before she realized what was wrong, couldn’t stop her from tipping the bottle back and watching Malfoy’s eyes go dark with unadulterated lust.

Hermione treasured the reactions she elicited in him. He might be sending her rocketing to oblivion and beyond, but she had the same effect on him. Watching his refined façade fall away as pleasure drenched his senses was beyond addicting.

Somewhere, hidden beneath her raging hormones and sudden predilection toward total abandon, Hermione knew she was crossing lines best left unexplored. Even a month ago, she would have poured the Firewhiskey down the drain and scoffed at the idea of forbidden trysts, especially with Malfoy.

But now the craving was far stronger than the urge to be a good girl and follow the rules. Hermione had spent the last five years being a perfect angel and she was damn tired of it. Who cared if he still called her Mudblood, if his touch was anything but gentle? He made her feel, freed her from the bounds of reality and let her dance among the stars. And the Firewhiskey? That just let her soar farther, the ecstasy exquisite.

One Friday night Malfoy pulled her aside as she made her way down from the Owlery, impish delight written across his features. Hermione basked in the impossible heat of his mouth for several long moments before he pulled back, cheeks flushed, expression utterly wicked.

“Tell me you know somewhere we can go to be truly alone.”

She stared at him for a long moment, assessing his sudden desire for actual privacy. Up until this point they had always used what was available, empty classrooms, forgotten nooks and crannies. Her pulse thundered at the idea of being truly alone with him, no Umbridges or Snapes to interrupt.

“Yes, I know a place.”

The glint in his silver eyes grew. “I knew you would.”

So she led him up the stairs to the seventh floor and the Room of Requirement. He knew little of Dumbledore’s Army, so there was no risk in showing him the endless possibilities the room entailed. He watched her intently as she paced in front of the blank wall, a muffled gasp escaping his lips when the hidden door appeared. Hermione grinned up at him, clasping his wrist as she backed into the room.

She spun as soon as the door shut behind them. It was decidedly different from the setup she was accustomed to for the DA meetings. The room was smaller, intimate even, with a large four-poster bed, a crackling fireplace and a pair of overstuffed armchairs. A bearskin rug lay in front of the fire while the bed was fitted with dark silken sheets that made her pulse jump.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Granger.” Malfoy stepped forward, his wrist slipping from her grasp as he examined the room’s contents. Apparently finding them to his satisfaction, he turned back to her. “How long have you known about this place?”

Hermione moved to stand beside him, the decadent rug plush beneath her feet. “Just this year.”

“And you’re absolutely sure no one can find us?” His eyes held a hint of something sinister.

She paused for a moment, searching his pale features, but there was nothing, only dark promises that churned her blood in all the right ways. “I’m positive.”

Malfoy grabbed her, eliciting a sharp squeal, and tossed her onto the bed. Hermione bounced, laughter bubbling as he stalked toward her. He shrugged off his robes, letting them fall to the ground. In his hand he held three vials, each with a different number written in elaborate script. The contents of the vials shone in the light of the fire, writhing as if alive.

Hermione’s focus snapped to his face. Malfoy’s expression plunged heat through her. He was utterly corrupt, his eyes dark and full of unholy delight. She crawled closer to him, the sheets teasing her exposed skin.

“What are those?”

“These, my dear Mudblood, are a work of art.” He sat upon the bed, pulling her to straddle him. Hermione was putty in his hands, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as his free hand trailed up her inner thigh.

Breath catching, she struggled to find her next words. “But… but what do they do?”

“They make you fly.” A wicked smirk traced his sinful lips. “Which number do you want to try first?”

The remaining sane portion of her brain was screaming something about drugs and how she’d really messed up this time, but the pleasure of his fingers against her pulsing core was overpowering, impossible to resist. “Whichever you want.”

He laughed, the sound wanton and perfect. “That’s my girl.”

He set two of the vials on the floor beside the bed, his hand retreating from the heat between them. Hermione whimpered at the loss, but the remaining vial was at her lips before she could protest. Her tongue swiped against the cold glass before she paused, looking down at him. “Don’t you want some?”

“Not now. I like to watch.” He tipped the contents into her mouth, the sweetness drowning out any further protestations.

Hermione swallowed reflexively. He resumed his sordid ministrations beneath her skirt, eyes keenly studying her. For a time it seemed nothing had changed, but then the movement of his hand against her was suddenly a million times more intense, the light of the fire blinding. She cried out, the pleasure shattering her to pieces. Malfoy grinned up at her as she panted against him.

“This is going to be fun, my little Mudblood.”

His voice was distorted, deeper, vibrating through her, leaving pleasure in its wake. He peeled off her clothes, but she was barely aware, her body lost in overwhelming sensation. She could feel the slide of his pale skin against hers, the effect rippling through her, drawing impossible heat to her core. Then he was in her, his thrusts sending never ending pleasure spiraling through her nerve endings. She’d never done this. Never imagined it would be like this. There was no pain or if there was, it was lost in the maze of pleasure contorting her.

Her body trembled with release at nearly every thrust, ecstatic screams ripping from her throat in quick succession. She had no idea what was happening, no conception of time or space, just unadulterated pleasure. He might have buried himself within her for hours or mere seconds, she couldn’t tell. The world was a hazy mist of color, her vision having ceded to the unquenchable desire. She knew he was still above her, was still working impossible miracles within her heat, but even he was lost in the haze. She surrendered entirely, letting the fog overtake her, the pleasure ride her raw.


	8. Eight

~*~ **Eight~*~**

 

Hermione was under the covers when reason slowly began to return. Her body felt battered, used in unfamiliar ways. She shifted carefully, rolling to face the fireplace. Malfoy sat in one of the oversize chairs, clad only in his black trousers. His silver eyes swung lazily toward her.

“Welcome back.”

Her mouth was dry, lips parched. Her voice scratched her abused throat. “How long?”

He gave an indolent shrug. “It’s not like I was keeping track. I suppose you lasted an hour or so before it overwhelmed you. You’ve likely been asleep another hour. Not bad for a first go.”

She swallowed. “Do you use… that… often?”

“Only with the right partner. Most girls can’t take it for longer than ten minutes, which is no fun at all.” His lips rose into a wicked smirk. “But I knew you’d be fine. You burn better than all of them combined.”

Hermione could hardly wrap her head around what he was telling her, but the memories were filtering back, the waves of impossible pleasure that had brought her higher than ever before. She wanted to hate him for it, but she already craved more. He had promised her dark delights and had he ever delivered.

“What do the other ones do?”

A dark chuckle echoed across the room. “I knew you’d want to find out. Another time, we need to let your body rest.”

Hermione stared back at him. “Do you ever use them yourself?”

His lips twisted, shadowy promise in his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

And she did. She wanted to see him writhing with abandon as she had, to watch his perfect façade falter in the face of overpowering lust. She wanted him wanton against her. She wanted it all.

 

**~*~**

 

A week after their first night in the Room of Requirement, Harry cornered her on the way out of the Gryffindor common room, green eyes determined.

“We need to talk. Alone.” His tone begged no questions and Hermione could think of no way to avoid the conversation. Harry had been watching her, more closely than ever. She’d noticed his questioning stares, but had always looked away, turned the corner or otherwise avoided a confrontation.

Hermione knew she was a wreck. She’d spent nearly every night for the past week drugged out of her mind with Malfoy buried deep inside of her. It was insane, completely out of character, and absolutely addicting. They’d made their way through Malfoy’s stash of potions, basking in the heightened pleasure and utter freedom. There had been nights they both partook, nights that swum into nothingness on the heels of boundless pleasure. She only remembered images, moments, but even those memories were addicting, the highs soaring above comprehension.

She’d kept up with her coursework, but had skipped out on numerous DA meetings to do so. Even Ron had started looking at her with worry, eyes darting away as soon as she glanced his direction. It had only been a matter of time before Harry successfully confronted her.

“Fine,” she muttered, trying her best not to glower at him. Malfoy was waiting in the Room of Requirement for her and her body was restless in anticipation of the pleasure to come.

Harry frowned at her, but led her away from the tower. She followed silently until the door of the Transfiguration classroom slammed behind them. She tried not to look at MaGonagall’s desk. She and Malfoy had crossed plenty of lines with her legs wrapped around his neck and her back arching against the desk. It was easy to compartmentalize the memory when MaGonagall was sitting at it, but the dark classroom made it significantly more difficult.

“Talk,” she sighed, facing away from the front of the room.

Harry settled on a desk beside her, feet swinging absently as he studied her. “Something is going on with you, ‘Mione. Something big. And I get that you might not want to share it with me, but you’re different.” He dragged a hand through his wild locks. “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

The accusation stung, but there was truth in his words. He didn’t know her; Hermione didn’t even know herself anymore. Malfoy had obliterated all the expectations she’d built up, that she’d defined herself by. Sex, drugs, alcohol. Those were things Hermione Granger would never partake in, not as a fifth year attempting to fight against the rise of Voldemort. But why shouldn’t she? The war was coming and there was no guarantee she would live to see the other side. If Malfoy made her feel alive, gave her absolute freedom to give in to her hedonistic urges, then why should she waste the opportunity to truly live?

She rubbed her brow, unsure of how to answer Harry. A part of her just wanted to spit it all out, but her better judgment held her back. Harry might be able to accept the sex, alcohol and potions, but there was no way in hell he was going to accept them with Malfoy attached.

“What do you want me to say, Harry?”

“Where do you go, Hermione?” Distrust flashed across his green eyes, turning her stomach.

“The Room of Requirement sometimes, other times just around the castle.” She shrugged, unsure what else to share.

Harry’s eyes bored through her. “You are aware I am in possession of the Marauder’s Map.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold. Suddenly the ice behind his stare made sense. He knew. He knew exactly who she’d been spending her time with. “Harry…”

“What exactly have you been doing with Malfoy? And don’t lie to me, not again.” Harry crossed his arms, eyes cold as he stared across at her.

“You really don’t want to know.” And that was the truth. She was absolutely sure Harry did not want to know exactly what their lustful trysts entailed.

His jaw muscle twitched. “Humor me, Hermione.”

Fine. If he wanted the damn truth then that was exactly what she would give him. “We fuck each other, Harry. Often and loudly. Sometimes there’s booze, sometimes potions he’s concocted that make fucking a million times more fun. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Harry reared back, as if she’d slapped him. His mouth worked silently for a long moment before he rasped, “What?”

“You heard me the first bloody time.” She glared across at him.

“You can’t possibly be serious.” He shook his head, black locks flying. His eyes were haunted as he stared at her. “You’ve gone bloody insane.”

“I am bloody serious,” Hermione assured him. “And as for the insane bit, well so what if I am? At least I’m not just sitting on my ass waiting for Voldemort to come murder us all.”

Fire rose in Harry’s green eyes. “We are not sitting on our bloody asses. That’s the whole point of the DA. We’re preparing, making sure we’ll be ready to live through this war. That’s the reason I’m letting Snape torture me with his infernal Occlumency lessons.”

“That’s fine and dandy, but when are we going to get to live? What’s the point in dying without having lived? So yes, Harry, I’m very happy to spend my nights having Malfoy screw my brains out while I’m high as a fucking kite. At least I’ll have lived before I die.” Her chest was heaving as she finished, a flush working its way across her cheeks. Hermione hadn’t known she felt so strongly about it, hadn’t realized how closely her desires derived from her fears.

Harry was wide eyed. “Does it have to be with Malfoy?”

Hermione released a sigh of relief. At least that was his only quibble now. “Yes and I know it doesn’t make sense. He’s a right git and I know it, but no one has ever come close to making me feel the way he does. I’m not saying it’s the right thing, Harry, but I’m saying it’s what I need. I need Draco bloody Malfoy, no matter how insane it may sound.”

“He’s going to hurt you.”

Harry was absolutely right. Malfoy was going to bloody desecrate her, but Hermione didn’t care. She harbored no illusions that she was anything more than a passing entertainment. But she would let him use her, destroy her, if it meant she could feel that freedom, if only for another second.

“I know.”


	9. Nine

**~*~Nine~*~**

 

As the weeks passed, Hermione came to accept Harry’s growing distance. He’d done her the courtesy of not telling Ron, muttering something about actual murder under his breath when she’d asked why. But that hadn’t stopped Ron from drifting away, swayed by Harry’s near constant decision to avoid her. They ate meals together in the great hall and collaborated on some coursework in the common room, but otherwise, she rarely saw them outside of classes.

The fact that they were all sitting together in the Hog’s Head, laughing over Butterbeers felt foreign. They’d done it before, but this was the first time since Harry had learned the truth. They’d opted for the Hog’s Head instead of the Three Broomsticks with the hope that the crowd would be thinner. They’d been mistaken. It turned out the first meeting of the DA at the Hog’s Head had made it something of a novelty stop for many of the members. Luna Lovegood and Ernie McMillian sat just a few tables away, pouring over the latest issue of the Quibbler. Hermione was glad of the unexpected company. Even though she had chosen the inn as the meeting place for the DA’s first session, it still unsettled her.

“So how exactly are we going to get rid of the toad?” Ron asked, leaning back in his grimy chair, a scowl on his face. Umbridge had sent the Inquisitorial Squad after them the night before, which had precipitated her learning of the Room of Requirement’s existence. Needless to say, it had been a disturbingly close call.

Harry sighed, hands tangled in his black hair. “I dunno. I expect anything we try to do to her will just land us in bigger trouble. We have to find a way to make her hang herself, metaphorically.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to literally,” Hermione commented. Despite the very welcome distraction of her nights with Malfoy, Umbridge was still a stubborn thorn in her side.

“Yes, well, your morals are a bit questionable these days,” was Harry’s acidic rejoinder. Ron glanced between them, bewildered.

Hermione glowered at Harry, ignoring Ron entirely. “So glad to know how you really feel.”

“Am I missing something?” Ron stared alternately at both of them. “I am definitely missing something.”

“You’re not.”

Her voice overlapped with Harry’s, earning him another glare. She turned to Ron, plastering an insipid smile on her face. “You’re not missing anything, Ronald.”

“Uh… if you say so.” Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact with either of them.

“Lovely,” Harry muttered, green eyes boring through Hermione.

The door to the Hog’s Head slammed shut, diverting their attention. Hermione barely contained a gasp as Draco Malfoy pulled off his Slytherin scarf, making his way to sit at the bar. He was alone and seemed entirely unaware of his audience. If possible, Harry’s gaze seared more forcefully through her. She stared intently at him, silently begging him to stop making a scene.

“Bloody Malfoy,” Ron groaned. “Just what we need. Think he’s going to report us to Umbridge?”

“You and me perhaps. I think Hermione’s in the clear.” Harry’s response was anything but subtle.

“Would you bloody lay off already?” The words escaped at a higher volume than intended, her frustration finally spilling over.

Suddenly Malfoy was looking at them. Well, not exactly them. He was staring intently at Hermione, his eyes luminous even across the dark tavern. Hermione was helpless to look away, suddenly adrift in a sea of pleasure and promise. His lips curved subtly upward, a devious gleam coating his silver eyes. He rose from his seat at the bar, her heart stuttering as he crossed the room. Malfoy walked by their table with hardly a glance, heading toward the stairs that led to the rooms kept by the inn. He’d nearly disappeared beyond the bend in the staircase when he turned back. His expression was neutral, but his right hand beckoned to her for the briefest of seconds. Then he was gone, leaving her breathless with anticipation.

“Bloody Slytherin git,” Ron observed, snapping Hermione suddenly back to her present company. Harry looked like he was seriously considering having her institutionalized; Ron remained thankfully oblivious.

All Hermione could think about was following him around that bend. She hardly cared what Harry or Ron thought. Thanks to the run in with Umbridge the night before, she and Malfoy had hadn’t met and she was desperate to feel his touch, to fly above the clouds with his intoxicating flesh leading the way.

Hermione stared down at her glass. She’d already finished, Harry and Ron soon after. It was only a matter of finding a way to separate from them and then double back to that tempting staircase and the certain delights that lay beyond.

“Didn’t you need something from the Quidditch store, Ron?” He’d been going on about it all morning, but Hermione couldn’t for the life of her remember what he’d needed.

Ron’s eyes lit up. “Blimey! Good memory, Hermione.”

Harry stared morosely at their empty glasses. “Fantastic memory, Hermione.”

“C’mon, I don’t want to forget again and it’s almost time to head back to the castle anyway.” Ron’s chair scraped as he bounded to his feet. Harry arose at decidedly more leisurely pace.

Hermione waved the boys along. “You two go ahead. I’ll pay and see you back at Hogwarts.”

“You don’t want to come?” Ron looked genuinely disappointed.

“When have I ever wanted to go into a Quidditch Store, Ron?”

He sighed in defeat. “Never. Alright, we’ll see you later.”

Harry lingered. “I’ll meet you in a minute.”

Satisfied, Ron sped out of the Hog’s Head, making a beeline for Spintwitches Sporting Needs. Harry followed her to the bar, disapproval radiating from his every pore.

“You can’t seriously be about to follow that Slytherin bastard up the Hog’s Head’s back stair like some call girl.” His voice was quiet, but she could tell he was close to snapping.

“I am old enough to make my own decisions,” she sniped, tossing the coins at the grizzled bartender.

Harry caught her wrist. “Please, Hermione. I can see what he’s doing to you and it isn’t good.”

“Sod off.” She spun out of his grasp, heading for the stairs.

Harry was hot on her heels. “So you’re just going to ignore me?”

“Yes,” she snapped over her shoulder. “That is the plan since you’ve insisted upon becoming my mother.”

“I only want what’s best for you.”

She gave a derisive snort. “Don’t you mean what’s best for you? Wouldn’t do for everyone to find out that Saint Potter is friends with a harlot, now would it?”

Harry stopped short of the stairs, half incensed, half scandalized. Hermione tried to shoulder past him, but he caught hold of her again. His green eyes were smoldering now, his ire barely contained. “Is that how you want it? Fine. Go be fucking slag for all I care.”

“Get out of my way.” Her voice was frigid, hands clenching as she glared up at him.

Harry raised his arms in mock surrender, lips twisting in disgust. “Go fuck yourself, Hermione.”

“That’s what Malfoy’s for,” was her snide reply, her shoulder jostling him as she stomped by. She didn’t hear his reply over the roar of blood in her ears. She wanted to punch him, throw him down a staircase, make him hurt like she did. Instead, she climbed the stairs, letting the promise of untold pleasures calm her ire until only desperate anticipation thrummed in her veins.

Finding the right room was simple enough; Malfoy hadn’t bothered to close the door. He was lounging in an uncomfortable looking armchair, staring vacantly out the window at the billowing snow.

“You took long enough.”

His voice was velvet pleasure. Hermione closed the door behind her. “I ran into some… complications.”

His silver eyes devoured her. “Yes. It seems Potter has become something of a liability.”

Hermione walked steadily toward him, hips swaying wantonly. “He’s known for weeks, Malfoy. If he was going to be a problem, he would have already done something stupid.”

“Good to know the Boy Who Lived to be an idiot won’t be an issue.” His voice dropped to a sensual whisper. “I still have plans for you.”

She straddled his lap, grinding down against him. He moaned delightfully in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “And what exactly are your plans?”

“For me to know and you to find out.” He reached down, arm reappearing with a glinting potions knife. He twirled the blade between his fingers, iniquitous glee flooding his silver eyes. “But this is the first surprise.”

Hermione watched the play of the light against the sharp metal, breath catching in her throat. The memory of her blood on his lips had her writhing against him again, heat pooling in all the right places.

“Show me.” Her voice was a wanton rasp.

Knife still spinning between his fingers he guided her from the chair to the bed, splaying her out before him. He briefly set the instrument aside, his pale fingers drawing tales of pleasure across her skin as he undressed her. Hermione stayed passive, watching with hooded eyes as he then stripped himself. The knife was back in his hand the minute his trousers hit the floor.

Malfoy crawled over her, hovering the blade just above her skin. He let it fall gently to trace her clavicle. The scrape against her sensitive flesh had her sighing in pleasure. He continued his ministrations, tracing the swell of her breasts and the cave of her abdomen. His touch was light, the knife threatening to draw blood, but never spilling a drop. She lurched when he traced it across the apex of her thighs, nearly screaming at the violent pleasure of it. He chuckled darkly against her leg.

“Trust me,” he murmured, one of his potions vials appearing in his other hand.

Hermione watched, entranced, as he skated the knife across her throbbing center again. There was a sharp sting on her thigh as the blade bit into her. She gasped reflexively but didn’t pull away. He aligned the vial with the small trickle of blood, catching a few drops before returning the stopper.

Malfoy extended the knife towards her handle first. “Your turn.”

Her trembling fingers grasped the cool metal. “What…?”

He produced another vial, removing the cork. Then he extended his arm to her, palm up. “Draw my blood.”

For a long moment she merely stared at him. Malfoy looked back at her, smoldering silver eyes begging her to take the plunge. She steadied her hands as best she could before lightly slashing the knife across his palm. Blood instantly welled from the wound, dripping onto her thighs until she remembered the vial he’d set on the nightstand. She sealed it after his blood had splashed into its murky depths. His hand was still oozing, the cut deeper than the one he’d expertly produced on her thigh.

“You can touch it, you know. Taste it. Whatever the hell you want with it.” Hedonistic satisfaction suffused his deep voice, his eyes wicked with possibility.

Eyes locked with his, she drew his palm toward her, breath stuttering as the metallic scent swept across her. His luminous eyes urged her on. Body trembling, she traced the path of the cut with her tongue. His blood was acidic on her tongue, but the wave of euphoria that swept across his silver eyes was worth the discomfort. Hermione repeated the gesture, chasing the high. He shuddered this time, façade cracking.

Malfoy pulled away before she could continue. She whined at the loss of his trembling hand. He laughed, the dark rumble an unseen caress. “More later, little Mudblood. Now it’s time for the main event.” He held up the vials, handing her the one she’d dripped his blood into. “The blood links us, allows us to feel each other’s pleasure.”

She swallowed, anticipation surging through her. The potion was euphoric as it was. Adding another stimulus? It was insane. It was bloody perfect. She downed the vial, dropping back against the bed to wait for its effects to manifest. Malfoy swallowed his own before ghosting his hands across her bare skin, teasing her into exquisite sensitivity.

The moment the potion came into effect she felt a shift in her a mind, an opening that hadn’t existed before. Eyes gleaming with dark delight, Malfoy grasped her hand, bringing it to trail across his hard flesh. The wave of pleasure was catastrophic, breaking her and forming her anew. Shaking, she gripped him more firmly and stroked again. She couldn’t help the scream of ecstasy that escaped her trembling lips.

His lips brushed across her ear, breath hot against her fevered skin. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Bloody brilliant,” she moaned, pulling him down to her.

There was no coherence for the rest of the night; no knowledge of where she ended and Malfoy began. It was only a maelstrom of pleasure, infinite and complete, encompassing her, unfettering her.


	10. Ten

**~*~Ten~*~**

 

The incident in Hogsmeade led to an icy truce between Harry and Hermione. He would pretend everything was normal when any of their friends were around, but the instant they were alone the friendly veneer would evaporate. Hermione had tried to talk to him the morning after her night at the Hog’s Head, but Harry had merely scoffed at her and told her exactly where she could stick a broomstick.

She pretended it was fine, that Harry’s looks of pure repulsion weren’t killing her. But she continued to slide further down the slippery slope, hardly paying any attention in classes, living only for the excruciating highs she found with Malfoy by her side. The scrape of a blade against her skin, the swirl of her blood within the enthralling potions was a near daily occurrence. She awoke restless, eyes rimmed with red every morning, but each evening it all melted away as she drowned in unfathomable bliss.

Hermione faded, unnoticed, into the background of the Gryffindor cohort. Her hand shot up less and less until she hardly bothered to listen to the words the professors spoke. She was still more than adept at the practical casting and potion making, but she let the insistent urge to be the absolute best wither away. What had she been striving for anyway? To be the best student? That was hardly worth the endless toil of revising and writing, never truly knowing enough, being good enough.

She was thankful for Malfoy, despite his acidic words and blatant disrespect. He wanted her all right, but she knew he would never see her as an equal, or a partner. It didn’t matter; she wasn’t in love with him, hardly could stand him most of the time. But he freed her, gave her wings to soar above the mundane, the fears, the childish insecurities. He’d opened the door to the kaleidoscope of pleasure, each new experience more addicting than the last. So she returned to him, to the oblivion of his lips and potions, knowing she could never stay away.

The OWL examinations loomed closer with every passing week, but Hermione hardly noticed until Professor McGonagall pulled her aside one Friday after Transfiguration.

“Miss Granger, may I have a word?” The professor looked down at Hermione, lips pursed.

Hermione shifted in her chair, idly twirling her quill between her fingers. The other students, half Ravenclaw, half Gryffindor had already rushed out the door. “Can I stop you?”

It was a more impudent question than she’d ever asked before, excepting several interactions with Umbridge. To her credit Professor McGonagall didn’t bat an eye. “No, not on this particular matter, Miss Granger.”

“Fine,” Hermione sighed, staring out the window beyond the professor’s shoulder.

“It has come to my attention that although you remain a bright student, you have lost much interest in the subject material, not only in my class, but also others. You have failed to turn in several assignments, which is uncharacteristic. And you seem entirely disengaged during lessons.” Hermione merely glowered, focus unchanged from the window beyond.

McGonagall sighed. “I know it is not my business, but I am worried about you. OWLs are coming up this year and if you do not receive the grades you want, Outstandings and Exceeds Expectations, then I fear you may not be able to pursue the career options you and I have discussed before.”

Hermione’s eyes panned to stare dully at the professor. “What’s the point of career options if in all likelihood I’m not going to survive the war with Voldemort?”

The woman’s eyes widened momentarily, her frown deepening. “Whatever gave you the impression you aren’t going to live?”

“Common sense,” was Hermione’s snide reply. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately and no matter which way I approach it, there’s no point to not living now. If I do survive I can always come back and take examinations. If I don’t, well, I don’t want the last years of my life to have been spent with my head in a book, life passing me by.”

McGonagall rubbed her temple. “I can see your logic, Miss Granger, and while I would like to agree with you, I can’t. You are the brightest witch of your age and deciding to spend your time…” the professor paused, expression sour. “Spending your time… seeing… Mr. Malfoy instead of advancing your studies isn’t productive.”

Did the entire school bloody school know what she and Malfoy were up to? Glaring at McGonagall, Hermione replied, “My private life is none of your damn business.”

“It most definitely is my business. Not only are you my student, but you are also a member of my house. It is my responsibility to make sure my students are properly cared for and stay within the expectations of this school. What you and Mr. Malfoy have been doing is a serious breech of school rules and could have serious consequences for both of you. Need I remind you that both you and Mr. Malfoy are underage still?”

Hermione scoffed. “I’ll be seventeen in less than six months. Besides, I can assure you we are very much no longer children.”

“I am keenly aware of that, Miss Granger.” The fight seemed to melt of out of her. “I am just worried, Hermione. I don’t want you to close doors only to realize years later you wished they’d remained open.”

“It’s my life, Professor. Last I checked I was free to do whatever I willed with it.” Hermione stood, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Is there anything else you wished to tell me?”

McGonagall shook her head, disappointment lingering in her grey eyes. “That is all, Miss Granger.”

Hermione left without another word, blood boiling. How dare the professor try and tell her what to do, especially in her personal life. She valued McGonagall’s input, truly she did, but the old woman had no business judging her relationship with Malfoy.

She stormed out of the castle into the crisp spring air. She was already late for Ancient Runes, so why bother attending at all? She could hear McGonagall berating her, insisting that attending Runes was imperative for Hermione if she wished to pursue a Ministry of Magic career.

Hermione sank down against a tree at the edge of the forbidden forest, relishing the warmth of the spring sun against her skin. Intellectually, she knew McGonagall had a leg to stand on, but Hermione honestly couldn’t care less. She was tired of everyone telling her what to do, from the loathsome Umbridge to Harry bloody Potter.

It wasn’t like she was going to skip the exams, which was exactly what everyone seemed to think now that Hermione watched her classmates hands shoot into the air while she stared vacantly into the distance. She even intended to revise for her OWLs; she just wasn’t going to obsess over them. She’d put in enough effort over the years that she was more than sure her results would be at least Satisfactory across the board.

“What’s got your knickers in such a twist?”

Hermione squinted up at Malfoy, his hair an ironic halo in the bright sun. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Arithmancy?”

“And you’re supposed to be in Ancient Runes.” His lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. “Such good students we are.”

Hermione gave a dark laugh. “Yes, top of our class.”

Malfoy flopped down next to her, his head coming to rest beside hers on the tree. “Who do you suppose is picking up the slack now?”

“Zabini.”

“Bloody bastard.”

“Is there a particular reason you’re here, Malfoy?” She angled her head until she could see the flutter of his pulse against pale skin. Hermione curbed the urge to taste him, enjoying instead the heat slowly pooling in her core.

“I was bored the other day and I came up with a… present for you.” The curve of his lips was a sinful promise.

“And this involves skipping lessons how?” She arched a brow, all the while leaning closer to his heat.

Malfoy shook his head. “That was a happy coincidence.”

“Are you going to tell me what my present is?”

“No, you silly Mudblood, I’m going to show you.” He surged to his feet, extending a hand down to Hermione. She relished the jolt of electricity as his fingers closed around hers. Malfoy kept a hold of her hand as he pulled her deeper into the forbidden forest.

Hermione trailed willingly behind, anticipation surging through her veins. They walked until the dense trees blocked the light of the sun, until only shadows swum in the darkness. Malfoy’s silver eyes were luminous and utterly wicked as he turned to her.

“Hold on tight.”

It was the only warning he gave before pulling an emerald handkerchief from his robes, a golden key tumbling into his palm. Suddenly she was being pulled in a million directions, her sense of direction spiraling into nothingness as the Portkey swallowed them. Hermione’s stomach lurched as her feet slammed down on solid ground again, the remnants of her lunch just barely contained. When the vertigo had abated, she turned a quick circle, taking in the oversize bed with forest green bedding and ornate black curtains, an oaken desk against a wall of books, an arched doorway.

“Where the bloody hell are we?” She’d been expecting something, but not this, not to suddenly be in unfamiliar territory.

Malfoy dropped comfortably onto the green comforter, his eyes dark with delight. “You seriously don’t know? Come on, Granger, you’re smarter than that.”

Hermione examined the room again. A Firebolt lay against the desk; several potions books were stacked neatly on the bedside table and a Slytherin tie hung from one of the bedposts. His smile grew predatory as she stared back at him. “This is your room. At the manor. You’ve taken us to Malfoy Manor.”

“And she’s got it.” He flopped back against the bed. “Stop looking so terrified, Granger. My parents are away in France on some inane business trip of my father’s.”

Hermione gingerly perched on the bed beside him, her pulse still racing from the realization he’d brought her into the enemy’s lair. She might not be worried about Malfoy, but his father was another beast entirely. “And why are we here? Was the Room of Requirement not to your satisfaction?”

He rolled to face her, chin propped against his palm, looking for all the world like a basking mermaid in some enchanted painting. “No, I find the Room of Requirement extremely satisfying; you should know that by now. It was just going to be rather difficult to bring my present onto school grounds.”

Her pulse jumped again. “This isn’t what you wanted to show me?”

Malfoy grinned up at her, all turpitude. “As much as I look forward to christening my bed with your delightful screams, no. Although I’m positive we’ll be able to enjoy that too.”

“So…”

His knowing smile sent her pulse fluttering. “I have something for you to enjoy while I go get your present.” He unclasped a hand to reveal a small white tablet.

“Muggle drugs?” Hermione shook her head at him, laugher barely contained. “You’ve gotten desperate, Malfoy.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Just because I think they’re utter filth doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate some of their finer inventions. Give me a month and the right ingredients and I assure my version will be a thousand times better.”

Stomach churning in gleeful anticipation, Hermione swallowed the pill. He pushed up, his lips just brushing her flushed cheek. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back. I’d recommend staying in my room, although you are free to wander. Things in this house have a habit of looking back and it isn’t always pleasant.”

Hermione had no doubt about that. She stared up at the black satin curtains, studying the play of light against the silken material. As she continued to stare, the fabric seemed to swim, coming alive before her eyes. Hermione shifted her focus to the wall of books beside his desk. The covers danced, each title sliding into the next. She tilted her head, giggling as the wall became a swirling watercolor.

She watched a green book drip down to pool on the desk below. The Firebolt had become a knotted ribbon, it’s wood twisting in impossible patterns. Her skin felt hot, the spring chill long forgotten. Hermione slithered out of her clothes, watching them evaporate one by one against the wooden planks of the floor.

She staggered to the arched doorway, inspecting the room beyond. It was a haze of gleaming white and gold, but even with the shapes spinning, she could identify it as a bathroom. She plopped down on the edge of the enormous tub, splashing her feet in invisible water. Disappointed, she turned to the taps, randomly fiddling until hot liquid flowed over her skin. Soon the bathroom was a sultry jungle, the heat smothering. Hermione merely laughed until the cloying heat was lost in the oozing watercolor of sensation. By the time Malfoy returned she’d forgotten she was waiting for him.

“Mudblood…” The word was a distant call, carried on the wind. “Granger! Bloody hell, Granger.”

A hand snapped in front of her face, the pale skin melting into the white tiles. Hermione cocked her head, following the motion to its origin. Malfoy stared down at her, annoyance warring with satisfaction in his silver eyes. She laughed for no reason at all.

“Granger,” Malfoy’s hands dug into her shoulders, focusing her wandering senses. “That’s better. I have someone I want you to meet.”

Hermione’s focus swam to the figure standing beside him. All the colors were melting together again, but she could just make out distinctly feminine curves and a cascade of black hair. She waved at the disjointed figure. “Hi.”

“This is Megan, a… souvenir my father picked up recently.”

She had no idea what he was saying, only that the curve of his lips looked utterly delicious. Hermione wobbled to her feet, thankful for the steadying arm Malfoy wrapped around her.

“Wonderful. Now that we’ve all gotten acquainted, let’s have some fun.”

Hermione stumbled out of the room, following his lead. Megan, she thought she remembered hearing Megan, walked beside them, intermittent sobs shaking her petite form. Hermione frowned at her, shaking off Malfoy’s arm to grasp the other girl.

“Why are you crying?” Hermione pouted at Malfoy over Megan’s head. “Did you make her cry?”

Malfoy’s eyes cut between them. “Of course not, Granger. She’s just unsure. How about you show her what a good time is in store?”

The world swam for a long moment, the deviant glint of silver eyes washing away all other hues. Then Hermione was grabbing the trembling girl and guiding her to lie on the luxurious bed. The sniffles gradually abated Hermione set to exploring the new feast of flesh and sensation laid out before her.

Hermione lost herself to a sea of bliss, her skin aflame with insatiable desire. Malfoy was in her, on her, everywhere and nowhere. She chased his silver eyes across dripping landscapes, keening with pleasure as color rained down upon her. And then there was softer flesh, quivering against her, crying out in the hurricane of delight. Hermione had never touched another girl, not anything like this, but she could hardly tell where Megan began and her own flesh ended. They were one, united in a haze of flesh and satisfaction.

The moonlight was eating the shadows by the time she collapsed, exhausted and sated against the disheveled bed. Hermione grinned at the luminous orb, ecstasy running through her veins.


	11. Eleven

**~*~Eleven~*~**

 

Consciousness dawned slowly. Hermione blinked, the window framed a reddening sky, dawn filling the room with hazy light. The foreign posters of the bed had her gasping for air until she spotted Malfoy leaning against the opposite wall as he stared absently out the window. Malfoy’s gaze cut sharply to her as she shifted into a sitting position.

“Lovely to have you amongst the living again, Mudblood.” He sauntered over to the bed, his silver eyes narrowing as she continued to stare at him. “I hope you’re not having any regrets.”

Her head swum as snippets of the previous evening cascaded through her. Had she really done that? With some girl she’d never met? The heat rose on her cheeks as Malfoy’s stare grew predatory. She tugged the sheet closer, suddenly feeling bare.

“How’d you enjoy your latest adventure, Granger?” He dropped down to sit at the foot of the bed.

“I…” Her throat seemed to be incapable of words.

A rare smile ghosted across his sharp features. “The Gryffindor Princess suddenly at a loss for words. This is a great occasion.”

“Nobody calls me that,” she protested.

“Not to your face perhaps, but there’s plenty said behind your back, Granger.” Malfoy’s eyes glinted in dark satisfaction as he inched closer to her. “Besides, I don’t believe that was the topic at hand.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. Yes, I enjoyed it. I just wish you’d given me something less potent. Everything bled together. I’m not even sure if I remember was real.”

An electrifying finger traced her jaw. “I can assure you it was all real. Every last moan out of that delicious mouth of yours.”

Hermione’s hold on the sheets loosened as he shifted to straddle her, his bare chest begging her fingers to caress him. She watched her hands trace patterns on his skin, writing her desire. Even without the influence of potions, drugs or alcohol, he was still potent as ever. She could never resist his siren call, never turn down those wicked silver eyes that promised infinite pleasure if only she took the leap. It was horrifying, but utterly inescapable. She was utterly addicted to Draco Malfoy.

His lips showered sparks down her neck, the heat of his breath searing into her, rekindling the ever simmering heat. She twisted to capture his lips, drowning in the ecstasy of him. His mouth moved lazily against hers as he tossed away the sheet. Hermione moaned against him, burying her hands in his silken hair. He groaned, pulling away from her lips to burn his eyes through her soul. His hypnotic stare never wavered as he thrust into her, not when her nails dug into his shoulders as she shattered beneath him, not when he trembled above her, an exquisite angel in the dawn light. She died and was reborn within the depths of his silver eyes until there was no more left to give.

It was only as she began to drift off, his arms still wrapped around her, that she realized they’d never just had sex before. There had always been some element added, potions, alcohol, but never just the two of them. Her heart was a rapid tattoo as she listened to soft sound of his breath. This felt forbidden in a way their more deviant liaisons hadn’t, more intimate and perilous.

 

~*~

 

“Are you even listening to me?”

Ron stared at her, wide blue eyes filling with annoyance. Hermione cleared her throat, desperately trying to remember what he’d been talking about. They were revising for the Potions OWLs, but the last few minutes were a blur. Ever since her trip to Malfoy Manor, she’d felt on edge, easily distracted. She’d seen Malfoy nearly every night in the Room of Requirement, but they’d never stayed the night together and had always used one of the potions. Something had morphed that morning in his bedroom and no matter how desperately she tried to return to their hours of mindless bliss, no expectation but mutual pleasure, she couldn’t.

Malfoy meant something to her now. Hermione had no idea what that something was, but now her heart jumped with more than simple lust. She held no illusions that he felt similarly, but she could hardly deny her newfound feelings, no matter how unwanted they were. She spent the hours after their drug-fueled unions clawing desperately at sleep as the moon traversed the sky. It was little wonder her attention span was awful; she hadn’t had a true night’s sleep in weeks. Where their depraved adventures had left her sated before, now she felt adrift, a need for something beyond desire itching beneath her skin.

“I am, honest.” She smiled, but it felt too thin, too desperate.

“Harry warned me you weren’t going to be of much help, but I didn’t believe him. How could our favorite know it all suddenly not know anything?” Ron scratched his neck, eyes focusing on a point beyond Hermione. “What’s happening with you?”

Hermione flinched, looking away. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, Ron. I promise I’ll be back to myself before you know it.”

“And you aren’t going to tell me what’s bothering you, are you?” Ron sighed, expression glum.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, Ron.”

“So you don’t trust me, but you trust Harry?”

Guilt rolled over her. “I didn’t tell Harry, he found out on his own. I’d rather neither of you knew.”

“Like that makes it so much better,” he sniped.

Hermione didn’t know what to say. She was sorry, but not nearly sorry enough to come clean. Especially now that she’d been to Malfoy Manor. Hooking up with Malfoy on school grounds was one thing, but losing herself to a maelstrom of pleasure in his bedroom, in the house of a family that would rather she be dead, well, that was inexplicable, at least as far as Harry and Ron were concerned. Hermione wasn’t quite sure when the thought had ceased to be unsettling to her.

“You know, I think I can handle it from here.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. Heart heavy, she gathered her things, retreating from the common room to pace the silent halls. She wandered, mind lost, thoughts turning through dark mazes, every path leading to Malfoy’s skin kissed by the soft light of dawn as she lay beside him.

She found herself at the top of the Astronomy Tower, a million glittering stars arrayed before her. She sank down against the parapets, head tilting back. The stars slowly gyrated around her, hours passing as the horizon consumed constellation after constellation. Finally, the first fingers of dawn clawed back the shimmering blanket of night. Hermione remained until the sun was hot against her skin, the night well and truly eaten away.


	12. Twelve

**~*~Twelve~*~**

 

OWLs passed, the exams arduous, but not so impossible. Hermione felt untethered, lost without the specter of exams to guide her. She drank more when Malfoy offered, took more potions than she ought to, doing everything in her power to drown out her growing feelings. Her sleep was still poor at best, impossible desires inundating her tired mind.

Harry and Ron plotted and worried, Harry’s connection to Voldemort all too strong. Hermione tried to care, she really did, but only mild annoyance manifested when she thought of their plight. It made no sense. She knew she should feel more, but Malfoy consumed every inch of her, from the heat that kindled at the mere thought of him to the sudden and unpleasant desire to have him want all of her, to have him like her beyond their incoherent passion.

She rolled over on their enormous bed in the Room of Requirement, the latest high still singing in her veins. Malfoy’s silver eyes chased trails of fire across her skin as he watched her from a fireside armchair. She smiled lazily back at him, savoring the heady pleasure he unleashed.

Malfoy slowly stood, luminous eyes holding her captive. Her stomach roiled in anticipation, heat pooling for the hundredth time that evening. She wanted him closer. Needed him to make her forget the emptiness that crawled within her broken soul, even if he was the cause.

A tapping at the lone window provided by the Room of Requirement had Malfoy freezing in place. Hermione’s gaze shot to the window as the owl tapped again, its wings beating wildly.

“Expecting mail, Granger?” His features had lost their seductive luster, confusion etched into his pale skin instead.

She shook her head. “No. I have no idea how it even knew to find us here.”

“Not as private as we may have thought,” he observed, moving to unlatch the window. Warm spring air poured though as the owl alighted on the bed beside her.

Hermione took the proffered letter, giving the owl a quick pat on its head. “Sorry we don’t have any treats here.” The owl huffed, feathers ruffling, but soon exited the way it’d entered. She turned the parchment over in her hands. A seal was stamped in wax on the back.

Malfoy snatched the letter from her. “That would be intended for me.”

The scripted M framed by dragons and serpents certainly seemed like the Malfoys. Hermione watched him closely as he peeled back the parchment, revealing the writing within. His silver eyes darted rapidly over the text, then again more slowly. By the time he looked up at her his eyes were dark, his features taut.

“Did you know about this, you filthy Mudblood?” The rage in his voice was caustic and entirely inexplicable.

“What?” Hermione shook her head, holding out a hand for the letter. He held it away from her. “What does it say, Malfoy?”

His eyes narrowed as they seared through her, searching. “Your bloody friend Potter has gotten my father arrested.”

Hermione jolted back, hands clutching the satin sheets. “What? When?”

“Tonight,” he snarled. “He’s been transported to Azkaban pending trial.”

She swallowed, confusion lacing her veins. She had no idea what to say to him. She wasn’t sorry that Lucius Malfoy had finally been caught, but there was no way she was ever going to say that to his son. “I… I—“

“Spare me, Mudblood.” His wand was in his hand now, wavering terrifyingly in front of her face.

“I swear I didn’t know, Malfoy.” She sounded too desperate.

“Was that all this was? Some ploy to distract me while Potter went off and arrested my father? Is that why you gave in? It seemed so unlike you, but I didn’t care. I wanted to destroy you, make you useless for other men.” His trademark sneer was back, disgust brewing in his silver eyes.

She wanted to scream at him that he’d bloody well succeeded, but that horrible part of her that actually yearned for his approval held her back. “It wasn’t a ploy or any type of distraction. I wanted what you offered.”

“Right up to the moment my father wound up in prison,” he growled, low and full of violent promise.

Hermione flung herself toward him, grasping at whatever limbs she could. He tried to throw her off, but she held fast to his arm, unheeding of the wand now pressed firmly to her throat. “I didn’t. I swear. I have no idea where Harry went tonight. We haven’t talked much since he found out about us. I was not conspiring against you. I would never do that.”

The wand continued to dig into her flesh. “Forgive me if I don’t just believe you. _Legilimens_.”

Suddenly she could feel him everywhere, invading every thought, tearing apart her mind with no care for the devastation in his wake. She’d only practiced Occlumency a handful of occasions with Harry and it became painfully clear Harry had been woefully unskilled. Malfoy cut through her thoughts like a hot knife to butter, destroying whatever small shields she threw at him. She quickly gave up the fight, allowing him to pillage at will.

Her breath was ragged by the time he pulled out, her mind a scatter of emotion. She wheezed softly, “Find what you were looking for?”

Malfoy slowly dropped his wand, a deranged glint flooding his silver eyes. “You’re pathetic, nothing but a filthy Mudblood. Like I would ever take you seriously, would ever like you or love you like your silly fantasies. You’re good for one thing you Mudblood slag, and that’s a good fucking. I would never stoop so low as to have actual feelings for you.”

She could feel the heat of the flush staining her cheeks as the tidal wave of shame crashed over her. She’d known better, but somehow she’d still fallen. She was disgusted with herself; ashamed she’d lost all control. She rubbed a hand roughly across her cheek, wiping the moisture away. She would not let him see her cry.

“Have I hurt the little Mudblood’s feelings?” He crowed with false affection. “You going to run back to your friends? Oh wait, you don’t have any left. Poor little Mudblood with no one at all.”

Hermione grabbed her clothes from their spot beside the bed before turning to face him. He was close enough that her breath caught, her veins running wild with anticipation. She fought through the feelings, those ardent desires that had brought her here. “At least my father isn’t in prison, you foul git.”

His eyes sparked with rage, but she didn’t care. She took a step closer and then spat in his face, watching with satisfaction as the saliva dripped down his sharp features.

“You utter cunt,” he hissed, vanishing the spit with his wand.

“Spare me, Malfoy,” she mocked, earning a menacing twitch of his wand.

Hermione didn’t wait to see if he’d make true on the dark promises within his eyes. She was beyond the door, having no care at all that her clothes were in hand, not on body. She didn’t pause until she’d reached the fifth floor bathroom and then only to rectify her attire.

It was only once she was safely within the Gryffindor dormitory that she let the façade shatter and the tears spill madly down her cheeks. Her heart felt as it had been stabbed a million times, leaving only tattered shreds behind. She wanted to hate him, to truly feel the ire behind her departing gesture, but the anger wouldn’t come. Some demented part of her still yearned for him regardless of his horrible behavior and words. He’d worked his way within her very soul and she had no idea how to exorcise him.


	13. Thirteen

**~*~Thirteen~*~**

 

Harry was waiting for her in the Gryffindor common room when she’d finally worked up the courage to emerge from the safety of the girls’ dorm. His green eyes sparked with emotion, promising yet another conversation she could do without. Hermione supposed she was lucky that boys weren’t allowed up the girls’ stairs. She wouldn’t have been able to survive a confrontation with Harry last night, not after Malfoy had shattered her so completely.

“Hello, Harry.” She stared dully at him, simply waiting for the onslaught.

Harry did not disappoint. “What the hell were you doing yesterday? Ron and I tried to find you, but you were sequestered away in the Room of Requirement with bloody Malfoy.”

Hermione massaged her temple. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Harry.”

“Do you even know what happened?” He looked wild now, control slowly slipping away. “Do you know what happened while you were shagging Draco bloody Malfoy?”

She shook her head, the action only fueling Harry’s mania. “I know his father was arrested.”

“Hardly worth Sirius’ death.” Harry’s voice was cold now, the heat replaced by an eerie frost.

It took her a moment to fully comprehend the words. Her heart shattered a bit more when she finally understood. Harry had only just gained Sirius, perhaps the closest thing to family he would ever know and now even that was gone. No wonder Harry looked fully capable of murder, his green eyes hard ice.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re bloody sorry? That doesn’t mean anything? While he was fighting for his life, while all of us were, you were shagging the bloke whose father was trying to kill all of us. You don’t get to be bloody sorry, Hermione.” The stony words were far worse than hollering. At least then she would have known he still cared. He was a stranger now, unwilling to let her in even the slightest bit.

“Who…?”

Harry’s eyes flashed. “Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Hermione hated the wave of relief that came when the name wasn’t Lucius Malfoy. She despised that even now, with Sirius lost to them, she could still feel something for Malfoy. It was terrible, wrong in from every angle and likely to cost her everything. She swiped at her face, aware suddenly that she was crying again.

“Don’t,” Harry growled. “You don’t get to cry.”

It only made tears run faster, the sobs wracking her until she was sure she would truly fall to pieces. She didn’t hear Harry leave, only realized she was alone when exhaustion finally stemmed the tide.

Numb but still trembling, she returned to her dorm and packed her things. She would be on the next train to King’s Cross; there was nothing left for her at Hogwarts, not anymore.


	14. Fourteen

**~*~Fourteen~*~**

 

Hermione eyed her bedroom, eyes skirting over the myriad of pictures of Harry and Ron, the purple framed mirror, the shelf still full of her childhood toys. It was all useless; clutter that reminded her how far she’d stumbled, of the magnitude of her sins.

Usually she hated coming home during the summer, the distance between her and Hogwarts seeming all too much. This time was different. She was thankful for the sudden disconnect, the chance to simply breathe. Instead of counting down the days until the next term began, she pretended there wasn’t going to be another term, that this temporary refuge would last far longer than the muggy summer nights.

But the pictures had to go. All the reminders, even the books she’d usually be devouring. Hermione Granger was going to spend this summer as a proper Muggle, as far away from magic as possible.

It took an afternoon, but soon enough she’d excised both her childhood and her school life. The room was bare except the furniture and a spattering of art she’d kept on the walls. Even her closet had been gutted, her robes packed away, the girlish clothing donated.

Hermione sat on her bed; the blank canvas in front of her giving the first hint of satisfaction she’d felt since Malfoy shattered her soul and Harry stomped on it.

Her mother paused in the doorway, concerned eyes sweeping over the barren space. “You all right, dear?”

Hermione hadn’t talked to either of her parents for more than a few minutes since arriving back. With their busy schedules and her intense desire to avoid any meaningful conversation it had been easy to glide under their radar. At least, until she’d gutted her room and trashed every picture of Harry and Ron she could find. It hadn’t been even remotely satisfying to watch their faces go up in flame, but at least they didn’t stare back at her now, prompting Harry’s words to reverberate through her yet again.

She studied her mother, noting the slight twitch of her lips. Of course her mother was worried. She’d been expecting her daughter at the train station, not a stranger in her daughter’s skin. When she’d left after the Holidays in January, she’d have blushed at the mention of sex or even alcohol. Now she ached for them and the mindless satisfaction they entailed. She didn’t give a damn what her parents thought about that either. Not that she was going to out and tell them what she’d been up to. No, let her mother worry over the shadows beneath her eyes, not the smell on her breath.

Although she wasn’t quite of legal age, still over a year to go in the Muggle world, Hermione had tracked down a few of her erstwhile primary school friends. With only a few quick questions they’d set her up with a remarkably convincing fake ID. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to use it, but after the first few days doing nothing but staring at the clouds traversing the sky, day and night, she’d given in to her baser urges.

The first few times she’d been terrified of being caught, the old Hermione hovering just beneath her skin. But after a week, the fear evaporated, the thrill far outweighing any reservations. She wasn’t stupid; she always had her wand on her, tucked into a boot or up a sleeve. If a threat to her life presented itself she was more than capable of dealing with it.

“I’m fine, mum,” she assured, eyes not quite meeting her mother’s. It was one thing to hide her life, an entirely other thing to lie about it. But it wasn’t like she could tell her mother. Her parents had raised Hermione to be a respectable young woman and she would stay that way in their eyes no matter how many lies it took.

Her mother lingered a moment longer, pain entering honey eyes. Hermione pretended not to notice despite the lurch of her stomach. It was for their own good. They didn’t deserve to know what a mess their daughter had wrought upon herself. The tension knotted in her muscles until she heard the door to her parents’ bedroom quietly close.

She was on her feet an instant later, light sweater hung over her shoulder as she stole silently through the house. The sun was hanging low in the horizon, the infinite summer evening calling to her disquieted soul. The front door shut silently behind her as she finally took a deep breath, allowing the muggy air to cloy her lungs.

The train ride into the city center was fast enough, the world a satisfying blur beyond the window. Her jean shorts and bright tank top left her exposed skin to stick to the plastic seats, but she hardly noticed. She already knew her destination. She’d been working up the courage to enter the club for weeks, but the earlier cleanse had given her the final surge of confidence.

The Cathedral lay on a well trafficked strip, but stood out as the only openly gay venue in the area. She was less likely to have random blokes buy her drinks, but she’d heard rumors of the absolutely delicious dancers, a treat for woman and man alike.

The club was utter cacophony as she entered, the bouncer hardly giving her a second glance when she presented the ID. The bar area itself was close to the doors, a vast square in the middle of the building. There were wooden booths that resembled church pews lining the edges. But the true wonder was the jungle of poles and platforms that ringed the dance floor. Every possible pairing writhed together on the floor below, but the undulating bodies above instantly captivated Hermione.

She moved toward the display, slipping through the crowd until the poles were just beyond her reach. She tried not to stare, but the expanse of flesh, contorting in all the right ways, left her wide eyed, the familiar pulse of heat growing within.

There was a flash of blond hair and her pulse skyrocketed. She knew it was impossible for him to be here, that Draco Malfoy would never deign to enter a Muggle club, let alone dance in one. She knew it couldn’t possibly be him, and yet she moved closer, a moth to the flame. He was on the highest platform, nearly a floor above her. His blonde hair hung into his eyes, his Adonis-like body covered only with an iridescent thong. For a moment their eyes met and shock coursed through her. His eyes were silver, a shade she had only seen once before.

His full lips pulled up in a smirk before he turned away, twisting in ways that left Hermione’s mouth dry. She surveyed the other dancers, but they couldn’t hold her attention, couldn’t distract her from the blonde with silver eyes.

Groaning, she turned away from the dance floor. She needed a drink, and a strong one. After an absurdly long struggle to find a spot at the bar, Hermione gladly nursed the whiskey in front of her. She’d purposely put herself in a chair facing away from the gantry and the dancers.

Just the glint of his hair let alone the gleam of his eyes threatened to undo her. All the memories crashed down upon her, the infinite pleasures that had given her so much before it had all turned to ash. She hated him. Hated him, but still longed for him, still dreamed of his flesh against her own, his eyes stealing her soul.

She gulped the whiskey, but even the sting of it against her throat and the warmth of it in her gut reminded her of him. Suddenly feeling suffocated, Hermione tore away from the bar, making a beeline for the closest exit. The hot summer air was hardly a relief, but it was better than the heat of the whiskey and the enticing ghosts of her memories.

“You okay there?”

Hermione jumped, a small yelp tearing from her throat. She swung to face the speaker and immediately regretted it. A cigarette hung from the blond’s full lips as he studied her. His blond hair hung to his collar, longer than Malfoy’s, but the same ethereal white that glowed so enticingly in the moonlight. He’d put on a pair of dark sweatpants that just barely kissed his hips, but his bare chest shimmered with oil.

Hermione swallowed heavily, the ability to speak having abandoned her. He took a long drag on the cigarette, the smoke coiling up to the heavens before he spoke again. “I noticed you staring at me. Most people look like they want to swallow me whole, but you looked like you’d seen a bloody ghost.”

His voice was deeper than Malfoy’s or maybe that was just the cigarette smoke. She couldn’t stop staring at the trail of smoke as it escaped his lips. And his eyes, now that she was close enough to see them, they weren’t silver, but rather a deep azure that reminded her of the summer sky. The silver must have been a trick of the light or perhaps her imagination filling in the details it desired.

“You remind me of someone.”

He slouched against the brick wall, eyes locked on Hermione. “I don’t get that very often. I take it the memories aren’t good?”

“No.” The word was out before she could stop it. “I mean some of them are good, but it all ended so badly that maybe none of them are. It doesn’t make sense.”

He laughed and the sound sent shivers of pleasure down her traitorous spine. “Matters of the heart rarely do.”

“I wish I could just forget,” she admitted, shifting to lean against the wall next to him.

“That’s what all this is supposed to do.” He motioned back toward the door she’d burst through.

“Can’t seem to escape him, even here.” She sighed, letting herself survey the man next to her. He was so very similar to Malfoy and yet entirely different. His eyes lacked the icy silver and his features, although sharp, were less harsh. She blushed when he caught her eyes, a knowing gleam behind blue eyes.

“Doesn’t look like you want to escape him.”

He dropped the cigarette, grinding the butt beneath his shoe. Hermione watched it smolder out. He was right. She hated to admit it, but it hardly did her any good to deny it. Malfoy had ruined her, just as he’d intended. “I hate him. I hate him so bloody much.”

“Doesn’t matter how much you hate him, not if you still want him.” He was looking at her with an odd gleam in his eye. “But I don’t think he’s the only one you want.”

“What?” Hermione stared at him, lost.

The dancer shifted to face her, his shoulder against the bricks. “You say you can’t escape him, but you clearly can. I’m the only guy here right now and although I clearly look a bit like this guy, I’m also not him.”

She frowned, unsure of what he was trying to tell her. “I don’t follow.”

“Are you afraid you’ll never feel that way again? The way you felt with him?”

Was she? She was fairly sure Malfoy was right and that she never would feel as intensely again, that he had stolen that from her. “I know I won’t.”

He was silent for a long moment, some internal battle being fought, before asking, “What do you feel when you look at me?”

“Anger, fear, guilt…”

“No, not emotionally, sexually.”

She gaped at him for a long moment. “I…”

“Do you feel the same things you felt for him?” He was closer now, his chiseled chest mere inches from her flushed skin. Her heart beat frantically in her chest as heated pooled within her.

“Yes.”

“Then he hasn’t won.” He moved away, the distance between them suddenly too far. She wanted this stranger with kind blue eyes and a wry smile, wanted him in a way she’d only felt with Malfoy himself. Beneath the rising tide of desire came the relief; the bastard hadn’t won.

She couldn’t help the smile that broke through as she stared up into blue, not silver eyes. Not the silver eyes of her memories, of the pain and loss, but new eyes that simply stared back. “Thank you!”

Hermione closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around him. He stumbled under the sudden onslaught of her weight, but quickly returned her embrace. His laugh was gentle and fresh against her ear. She pulled back until she could see his face, could memorize these new features that had given her such freedom.

“I really want to kiss you.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her heart hammering a happy tattoo against her chest.

He laughed again, his eyes bright and full of infinite warmth. “I get that a lot.”

But then his lips were caressing hers, gentle and mesmerizing. Hermione melted into him, letting the burden of Malfoy slip from her shoulders until all she felt was simple joy. Their lips moved together, exploring and plundering until her knees were weak and her soul was brimming with possibility.

It was Hermione who finally pulled away, a girlish giggle escaping her swollen lips. Where the world had seemed dark and desolate only moments before, there was now light bursting through her.

Her smiled down at her, a chuckle chasing her laughter. “I don’t think I’ve ever elicited that response before.”

She shook her head, a genuine smile on her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that.”

“Good.” He held out his hand. “I’m Will, by the way.”

She took his hand. “Hermione.”

“Lovely to meet you, Hermione.” Laughter danced across his face.

“I suppose we did go about this the opposite of usual,” she mused. “Are you even interested in women?”

He looked vaguely affronted, but the amusement within his eyes gave him away. “Are you asking because I’m a dancer at a gay club? Because I thought that kiss should have answered any questions you had.” He let her flounder for a moment before laughing. “I enjoy both men and women if you must know, Hermione.”

She felt like an idiot for asking, but was glad he’d laughed the question away. “Can I see you again?”

“The show’s free every night… but that’s not what you’re asking.” Hermione met his gaze, hiding nothing as he studied her silently for a long moment. “Give me your hand.” She lifted her hand, skin prickling as a pen brushed over it, magically conjured from somewhere in his sweatpants pocket. His name and number were scrawled on the back of her hand in bright red ink.

“Thanks.” She took the pen from him and wrote in much neater handwriting her parent’s phone number and address.

A grin plastered on her face, she backed away from him. “I expect to be hearing from you, Will.”

“I promise I won’t disappoint.”

Hermione held his azure stare until she rounded the building at the end of the alley. She was nearly bursting from the joy and excitement, from the utter freedom. How had she ever let herself drown in Draco Malfoy when there were Wills out there waiting to sweep her off her feet?

The first thing she did upon arriving home was pull the few surviving pictures of Ron and Harry out of her closet. The second thing was to write the most apologetic note of her life to Harry Potter. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and didn’t stir until she woke the next morning.


	15. Fifteen

**~*~Fifteen~*~**

 

They met at a small coffee house in one of the Underground stations. Hermione wasn’t sure how to act, not with the distance that had grown between them when she’d slipped away, the drugs and pleasure all encompassing. It was different now. She looked back on the last six months of her life and could hardly believe they were real. She understood the live and let live attitude that bolstered her actions, she still felt that need thrumming beneath her skin, but how had she let herself fall so far? How had she not seen what was happening, how unhealthy her dependence on Malfoy had become?

She’d never even asked about the girl at Malfoy Manor. From what she could remember, the girl was likely a Muggle prisoner from one of Malfoy Senior’s raids. And she’d forced that poor girl to do things Hermione didn’t want to remember. Sure, Malfoy had been the ringleader, but she was no less guilty of the crime. And the blood and potions and infinite pleasure had stolen her sanity away until all that was left was base desire. She couldn’t explain it to anyone, least of all herself.

Harry waved from a seat by the window. Hermione tentatively approached, her teeth worrying her lip as he motioned for her to take a seat. “Thanks. For agreeing to meeting with me.”

A sad smile pulled at his lips. “You were convincing in your letter.”

“I’m sorry. I want to say that first. I’m sorry for the way I treated you and for not listening to you when you only had my best interests at heart.” She swallowed, tears suddenly threatening.

Harry leaned across the table, his hand enveloping hers. “I forgive you, Hermione. I had no idea how much he was doing to you.”

Hermione flinched and looked away, unable to meet his kind green eyes. She focused on the feeling of his warm hand against her own. “I’m not proud of what I did, Harry. I know it was wrong, but at the time it felt like it was the only path, the only way to escape.”

He squeezed her hand. “Addiction is no easy thing, Hermione. I know that. I know that by the end it wasn’t even a choice.”

“I haven’t had a drink since I met Will.” She dared to meet his eyes again. They were soft, forgiving in a way she didn’t deserve.

“Your stripper boyfriend,” Harry identified with a roll of his eyes.

“He’s not a stripper, he’s a dancer. And he’s not my boyfriend. It’s casual. We’re more friends than anything.” Hermione couldn’t help the smile that crossed her lips. While there had been a few steamy kisses with Will, she was telling the truth. They spent most of their time talking or exploring London.

“He helps you stay sober and that’s more than good enough for me,” Harry admitted, wry smile on his face. “Do I get to meet this knight in shining armor any time soon?”

“We’re going bowling tonight, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Harry sighed, a hand tangling in his messy black hair. “It’ll depend on how easy it is to avoid the Dursleys. They’re still as awful as ever.”

Hermione grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry you still have to stay with them and I’m really sorry about Sirius. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make up not being there, helping you.”

“Thank you,” he replied, green eyes dimming. “It wasn’t fair of me, the way I attacked you that morning. I was upset and I’d gotten it into my head that if you’d been there he wouldn’t have died. But that’s complete rubbish. If you’d been there, I would have just had one more person I might have lost.”

Hermione stared. She had never expected him to apologize for that morning, had never even held it against him. His only family had died and she’d been cavorting with the enemy. “I want to fight for you Harry. The only thing that’s total rubbish is the way Voldemort is tearing our lives apart. I was mad about it last spring and, well, I’m still mad.”

It was one of the feelings that had fueled her descent into a drugged haze. She understood that now. She hadn’t been wrong during that awkward conversation with Professor McGonagall. She didn’t believe sitting in classes and pretending a madman wasn’t plotting their demise was worth her time. Of course, neither was running away from it all until her brain was so addled by drugs, alcohol and dependency that she couldn’t find a way out. There would always be that fear lurking below the surface, that knowledge that she could fade away without a backward glance. But she would fight it, would hold on to those who loved her until she could almost forget.

Harry smiled grimly back at her. “I’m mad too. And that snake is going to pay. I know we’ll see to that.”

Hermione smiled back, determination filling her as his emerald green eyes blazed. This was a fight they would not lose.

~*~

 

Hermione stood on Platform 9 ¾, eyes surveying the throng of students bustling onto the train. Harry and Ron were already aboard, her trunk with them. She waited on the platform, eyes scanning the crowd for the signature platinum hair. She’d thought over the myriad of ways she might encounter him again and again and had ultimately decided it would be on her terms. She was no coward and the sooner she confronted him, the sooner she could begin to move on.

A jolt of adrenaline coursed through her as he emerged from behind a pillar. He was alone, which was odd, and his features were gaunter than she remembered, eyes sunken and red. She buried the pang of sympathy that bubbled up. He would have none of her pity.

She worked her way through the crowd until she stood adjacent to him, close enough to smell his cologne. Her heart was beating out of her chest, but her features remained aloof as she put a hand on his arm.

“A word, Malfoy.”

He spun to face her, silver eyes flashing as they focused on her. She could almost hear his teeth grind. “Get out of my way, you filthy Mudblood.”

Her wand was against his chest in an instant, hidden from the other students by her robes. She was uncomfortably close to him now, but she’d prepared for the onslaught of desire inundating her. Her breath didn’t even hitch as he leaned toward her, using his proximity as a weapon.

She laughed, the sound hard and cold, and he froze, eyes narrowing. “Your old trick won’t work this year, you pathetic sot.”

“What do you want, Granger?” His eyes were pure ice now.

“I want you,” she stabbed her wand into his ribs, eliciting a sharp gasp, “to stay the hell away from me and my friends. Whatever you thought about me, you’re wrong now. I’m not the same person I was last spring.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t spend the whole summer ten sheets to the wind, Granger,” he growled.

And she would have, if she hadn’t found Will in that alley, if she hadn’t had the courage to talk with Harry, if she hadn’t told her parents about her predilections towards alcohol and its like. Not a single word had been shared about her deviant sexual encounters, but she’d been honest as to her need to be numb, to drown out the fear with the burn of alcohol and the haze of potions. She’d fought for her soul all summer and now she owned it; Draco Malfoy had no power over her.

Did standing this close to him still make her quiver with excitement? Without question, but she knew not to take a step down that road, she knew only she could be the master of her ship. He would always be part of her, but he could no longer drown her in her own vices.

“I didn’t.” She rose onto her toes until she could ghost her lips across his silken skin. “I’ll always remember what you gave me. But it’s over, Draco.” She let her lips linger on his cheek, relishing the feel of him shuddering against her.

Satisfied, she backed away from him, letting her wand fall to the side. He was staring at her, silver eyes suffused with a foreign emotion it took her a moment to identify. Respect. He was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time, his eyes darkening in new and dangerous ways.

Hermione gave him a wistful smile, powering through the roar of her pulse and the near unbearable ache within. “Goodbye, Draco Malfoy.”

He watched her go, rooted to the spot, standing frozen in the throng of students as she boarded the Hogwarts Express. Hermione finally looked away as she climbed the stairs. Her hands were trembling; the need to feel him against her, to drown in all the infinite pleasures he could give her an insatiable itch beneath her skin. It had taken everything to walk away, to look into those silver eyes and not let the summer melt away. Just the scent of him made her forget Will, Harry or anybody else. She’d told the truth; she would never forget him, never truly surmount the damage he had wrought upon her.

Hermione dug her nails into her palms until the trembling subsided. She would never give in again. She repeated the mantra as the rolling hills sped past, as the castle that had taken so much appeared in the distance. She repeated it even as silver eyes stared back at her, reflected in the pane of the train window, Malfoy only a row away. Her soul trembled as his tongue swiped across full lips, a perilous smirk reflecting back at her, the sting of her nails lost to the heat of his stare. She could not give in. Malfoy smiled, a sinful invitation that ripped through everything and left only him. Hermione’s breath caught as she tore her gaze away and continued to repeat the words that echoed hollowly in her head even as the simmer of her blood rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to simply finish this today. Mostly because I don't love the ending, but this is as satisfied as I'm going to get. There is a much darker version of this story. One where Draco kills the girl at Malfoy Manor and Hermione gets Imperio'd. I honestly couldn't finish it because I couldn't put Hermione though all that torture, so you have a significantly brighter version instead.
> 
> Also, the Cathedral is the Abbey in LA, which is a truly fantastic bar.
> 
> For those of you who noted this story seemed a bit light on the edges, I agree. I wrote it as a way to get the scenes out of my head with that much darker plot in mind. It was honestly a way to get my mind out of the Walk the Line/As We Are universe, if only for a second. As many of you who have read those probably noted, this Draco lacks any redeeming qualities compared with his counterpart in that universe. I guess I wanted to explore a significantly less sympathetic version of the character (Not that the WTL/AWA Draco is fundamentally good in any way either). So yeah. Thanks for coming along on the ride, even if it wasn't quite the full roller coaster you may have desired.


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